!        -                                                           -          -                                                                           i. 

!                                                                          1 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT    LOS  ANGELES              j 

tt        i   —    — ■  i.  ■■ : —      —  -     ■                        — »!■' 

PROBLEMS  OF  RELIGION 


AK   INTRODUCTORY   STTRYEY 


BY 

DURANT  DRAKE 
A.M.  (harvard),  Ph.D.  (Columbia) 

Professor  of  Philosophy  at  Vassar  College 
Author  of  Problems  of  Conduct 


BOSTON    NEW  YORK    CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

<$he  flitoer?i&e  pre?g  Cambridge 


3Soofcs  bp  Ourant  3Drafee 


PROBLEMS  OF  CONDUCT. 
A  n  Introductory  Survey  of  Ethics. 

PROBLEMS  OF  RELIGION. 
A  guide  to  stable  belief  and  energetic  action  for 
all  who  are  confused  by  the  chaos  of  current 
opinions. 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston        New  York        Chicago 


COPYRIGHT,   1916,   BY  DURANT  DRAKE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Of  Ribrrsibc  JJrfSS 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .   S   .    A 


X>78p 


o 


TO    MY    WIFE 

WHOSE   LIFE   REVEALS   THE   SECRET   OF   RELIGION 
FAR  BETTER  THAN   ALL   MY   WORDS 


CO 
CO 


(XI 

cc 
< 


24Sfii)l 


PREFACE 

This  book,  like  its  predecessor,  Problems  of  Conduct, 
represents  a  course  of  lectures  given  for  several  years  to 
undergraduates  of  Wesleyan  University.  It  is  hoped  that 
these  lectures  in  printed  form  will  be  useful,  not  only  for 
other  college  classes,  but  for  the  general  reading  public  that 
is  interested  in  the  great  and  vital  problems  of  religion. 
Their  aim  is  to  give  a  rapid  survey  of  the  field,  such  that 
the  man  who  is  confused  by  the  chaos  of  opinions  on  these 
matters,  and  himself  but  little  able  to  judge  between  con- 
flicting statements,  may  here  get  his  bearings  and  see  his 
way  to  stable  belief  and  energetic  action.  In  so  limited  a 
space  it  will  not  be  possible  to  attempt  an  adequate  pres- 
entation of  the  arguments  for  each  view  advanced  or  a  re- 
buttal of  the  infinitely  numerous  and  shifting  arguments  by 
which  the  various  current  doctrines  seek  to  justify  them- 
selves. All  that  can  be  done  is  to  offer  the  results  of  the  best 
scholarly  work  in  the  wide  field  covered,  and  thereby  to 
present  a  general  perspective  of  those  truths,  some  old  and 
some  but  recently  acquired,  which  bear  practically  on  our 
religion. 

The  carefully  chosen  lists  of  readings  appended  to  each 
chapter,  together  with  the  more  specific  references  in  the 
footnotes,  will  serve  —  for  those  who  are  interested  enough 
to  pursue  any  topic  further  —  as  a  check  upon  the  author's 
conclusions  and  an  initiation  into  the  further  aspects  of  the 
several  problems.  Practically  all  of  this  selected  literature 
is  in  English,  and  is  readable,  as  well  as  worth  reading. 
The  hopelessly  antiquated  literature  is  not  cited,  except 
occasionally,  where  it  seems  necessary  for  the  sake  of  fair- 


vi  PREFACE 

ness  in  presenting  both  sides  of  a  long  controverted  matter. 
The  literature  that  indulges  in  rhetoric  rather  than  in  solid 
argument  is  also  omitted,  and  all  that  range  of  books  once 
useful  but  now  stranded  by  the  onrushing  tides  of  criticism. 
Such  names  as  Edwards,  Emmons,  Hodge,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  Strauss,  Renan,  Ingersoll,  on  the  other,  are  absent;  but 
whatever  of  their  thought  survives  in  contemporary  dis- 
cussion will  be  found  represented  in  the  more  recent  works 
referred  to.  The  ideal  of  justice  to  all  legitimate  opinions  has 
been  kept  in  mind,  but  has  not  precluded  the  attempt  to 
present  as  clearly  as  possible  whatever  conclusions  seem 
to  the  author  warranted  by  our  present-day  knowledge. 

There  are  two  fires  between  which  the  critical  writer  on 
religion  stands.  On  the  one  side,  his  historical  investiga- 
tions and  scientific  attitude  inevitably  seem  cold  and  un- 
friendly to  him  whose  personal  belief  is,  necessarily,  treated 
as  one  of  many  forms  of  possible  religious  belief,  springing 
originally,  as  all  have,  out  of  superstition  and  error,  and 
developed  largely  through  the  forces  of  prejudice  and 
emotion.  From  the  other  side  come  the  murmurs  of  those 
who,  standing  outside  of  these  beliefs,  and  feeling  no  pull 
of  longing  or  loyalty  toward  them,  feel  an  impatience  at  so 
much  concern  with  what  appears  to  them  a  mere  conglomer- 
ate of  preposterous  and  visionary  ideas.  In  the  introduc- 
tory chapter  that  follows,  I  have  essayed  to  defend  what, 
fortunately,  for  most  readers  will  now  in  these  more  toler- 
ant times  need  no  defense,  an  attitude  toward  religion  that 
is  both  warm,  sympathetic,  reverent  —  and  critical,  open- 
eyed,  resolute  to  follow  the  truth  wherever  it  lead. 

Parts  of  this  book,  in  manuscript,  have  been  read  by  Dr. 
Percy  W.  Long,  of  Harvard  University,  Professor  Clayton 
R.  Bowen,  of  the  Meadville  Theological  School,  President 
Albert  Parker  Fitch,  of  Andover  Theological  Seminary, 


PREFACE  vii 

Professor  J.  W.  Hewitt,  of  Wesleyan  University,  Professor 
C.  B.  Hedrick  and  W.  P.  Ladd,  of  the  Berkeley  Divinity 
School,  and  Professor  D.  C.  Macintosh,  of  the  Yale  School 
of  Religion.  In  an  earlier  form  it  was  read,  with  sympathetic 
and  illuminating  comment,  by  that  leader  and  inspirer  of  us 
all,  William  James.  To  all  of  these  I  render  grateful  acknowl- 
edgment; and  to  two  others  whose  written  and  spoken 
words  have  been  of  the  utmost  service  to  me  —  Professor 
George  Santayana,  formerly  of  Harvard  University,  and 
Professor  Dickinson  S.  Miller,  of  the  General  Theological 
School,  New  York.  To  none  of  these,  however,  must  any 
responsibility  be  attributed  for  the  opinions  which  I  here 
espouse. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  editors  of  the  American  Journal 
of  Theology,  the  Biblical  World,  the  Monist,  and  the  Inter- 
national Journal  of  Ethics  for  permission  to  reprint  various 
sentences  and  portions  of  chapters  which  have  appeared  as 
a  part  of  earlier  essays  in  these  periodicals. 

Durant  Drake. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTORY 1 

The  importance  of  the  study  of  religion. 

The  need  of  a  critical  attitude  toward  religion. 

PART  I.    HISTORICAL 

CHAPTER  I.  The  Origins  of  Religion       ....      9 

The  sources  of  primitive  religious  ideas  and  practices:  — 
I.  The  precarious  situation  of  primitive  man. 
II.  The  spontaneous  attribution  of  life  and  will  to  inanimate 
objects. 

III.  Dreams  and  the  mystery  of  death. 

IV.  Abnormal  and  mysterious  experiences. 
V.  Reflection  upon  the  origin  of  things. 

VI.  Man's  need  of  deliverance  from  himself. 

CHAPTER  II.   Greek  and  Roman  Religion       ...    20 
In  what  striking  ways  did  religion  develop  in  Greece? 
What  is  the  permanent  significance  of  the  classic  Greek  religion? 
What  were  the  main  currents  in  Roman  religion? 

CHAPTER  III.  Buddhism  and  Zoroastrianism  ...     36 
What  was  the  soil  from  which  Buddhism  grew? 
What  was  the  nature  of  Buddha's  mission? 
What  were  the  striking  aspects  of  his  teaching? 
What  was  the  subsequent  history  of  Buddhism? 
What  was  the  essence  of  Zoroastrianism? 

CHAPTER  IV.  The  Hebrew  Religion 49 

How  did  the  Hebrew  monotheism  arise? 

What  are  the  striking  features  of  the  religion  of  the  prophets  and 

psalmists? 
How  did  the  Messianic  hope  arise? 

CHAPTER  V.  Jesus  the  Christ 63 

What  are  the  sources  of  our  knowledge  of  the  life  of  Christ? 
What  were  the  salient  events  of  his  life? 


x  CONTENTS 

What  were  the  striking  features  of  his  personality? 
What  were  the  striking  features  of  his  teaching? 

CHAPTER  VI.  Paul  and  the  Founding  of  the  Church    82 

How  did  the  Christian  Church  originate? 

What  are  the  salient  facts  of  Paul's  life  and  personality? 

What  was  the  gist  of  Paul's  teaching? 

CHAPTER  VII.   Early  Christianity 96 

What  were  the  causes  of  the  triumph  of  Christianity? 
Under  what  influences  did  the  Church  evolve  her  creeds? 
What  was  the  origin  of  the  conceptions  of 
I.  The  Atonement? 
II.  The  Trinity? 
III.  Heaven,  Hell,  and  Purgatory? 

CHAPTER  VIII.   Later  Christianity;  Mohammedanism    113 
By  what  process  did  the  Roman  Church  become  dominant? 
What  was  the  significance  of  the  Reformation? 
What  have  been  the  subsequent  tendencies  of  Christianity? 
What  are  the  essential  features  of  Mohammedanism? 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  I 128 

What  has  been  the  trend  of  religious  evolution? 

PART  II.  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

CHAPTER  IX.  The  God  of  Experience      .      .      .      .135 
How  does  God  appear  in  human  experience? 
I.  God  in  nature. 
II.  God  in  our  hearts  —  the  Holy  Spirit. 
III.  God  in  Christ. 
What  is  the  nature  of  God  as  thus  revealed? 

CHAPTER  X.   Sacrifice  and  Sin 151 

What  is  the  history  of  the  concepts  of  sacrifice  and  sin? 
What  are  their  dangers? 
What  is  their  permanent  value? 
The  doctrine  of  Original  Sin. 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  XI.  Salvation,    Conversion,    and    Atone- 


106 


MENT 

What  is  the  meaning  of  salvation? 

What  is  the  meaning  and  value  of  conversion? 

The  doctrine  of  the  Atonement. 

CHAPTER  XII.  Faith  and  Prayer 180 

What  is  the  nature  and  value  of  faith? 
What  has  been  the  evolution  of  prayer? 
What  is  the  function  and  value  of  prayer? 

CHAPTER  XIII.  Religious  Love  and  Peace    .      .      .197 

The  spirit  of  love  and  service  in  religion. 

Religious  peace. 

Mysticism  and  Christian  Science. 

CHAPTER  XIV.  The  Essence  of  Religion       .      .      .213 
How  shall  we  determine  the  essence  of  religion? 
What  is  the  relation  of  religion  to  theology? 
What  is  the  relation  of  religion  to  morality? 
What  is  the  essential  nature  of  religion? 

CHAPTER  XV.  The  Christian  Religion     .      .      .      .229 
Is  Christianity  the  true  religion? 
The  Gospel  of  Christ. 
The  Gospel  about  Christ. 
The  Christian  life  and  Christian  creeds. 
Who  is  the  true  Christian? 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  II 243 

What  function  does  religion  have  in  the  life  of  man? 

PART  III.  PHILOSOPHICAL 

CHAPTER  XVI.  Theological  Method  and  the  Scien- 
tific Spirit 249 

The  three  methods  of  theology:  — 
I.  Authority. 
II.  A  priori  reasoning. 
III.  The  scientific  method. 
The  opposition  of  the  Church  to  the  scientific  spirit. 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XVII.  The  Interpretation  of  the  Bible     264 

How  did  the  conception  develop  of  the  inerrancy  of  the  Bible? 
What  facts  have  altered  our  conception  of  the  Bible? 
Is  the  Bible  inspired,  the  Word  of  God,  authoritative? 
Wherein  consists  the  greatness  of  the  Bible? 

CHAPTER  XVIII.  Miracles 280 

What  considerations  have  weakened  the  belief  in  mirpcles? 
Of  what  value  is  the  belief  in  miracles? 
What  should  be  our  attitude  toward  miracles? 

CHAPTER  XIX.   Creation  and  Design        .      .      .      .295 
Can  we  draw  theological  inferences  from 
I.  The  sheer  existence  of  the  universe? 
II.  The  existence  of  certain  classes  of  facts? 
III.  Marks  of  design  or  purpose? 

CHAPTER  XX.   The     Interpretation     of     Religious 
Experience 312 

What  cautions  should  be  observed  in  interpreting  religious  ex- 
perience? 
I.  The  voice  of  conscience. 
II.  Conversion. 

III.  Faith-healing. 

IV.  Mysticism  and  intuition. 

CHAPTER  XXI.   Pragmatic  Arguments       .      .      .      .332 
Can  we  trust  a  belief: 

I.  Because  its  untruth  would  be  intolerable? 
II.  Because  our  hearts  vouch  for  it? 
III.  Because  it  "works"? 

CHAPTER  XXII.   The  Counter-Attack  upon  Science  351 
Is  reason  untrustworthy  because  the  product  of  blind  forces? 
Is  science  based  upon  unproved  and  self-contradictory  postulates? 
Is  science  based  upon  purely  subjective  data? 
Is  science  restricted  in  its  scope? 

CHAPTER  XXIII.   The  Problem  of  Evil    .      .      .      .366 
Can  evil  be  conceived  as  a  partial  view  of  the  good? 
Is  evil  necessary  for  character-building? 
Is  evil  necessary  at  a  stage  in  the  evolution  of  humanity? 
Is  evil  the  result  of  man's  perverse  use  of  his  free  will? 
Is  evil  to  be  attributed  to  God  at  all? 


CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTER  XXIV.  Immortality 383 

The  evolution  of  the  belief  in  a  future  life. 
What  considerations  make  against  the  belief? 
What  are  the  leading  arguments  for  the  belief? 

CHAPTER  XXV.  The  Venture  of  Faith    .      .      .      .397 
Which  is  the  higher  ideal,  loyal  belief  or  impartial   investigation? 
Should  we  accept  or  reject  beliefs  of  whose  evidence  we  are  un- 
certain? 
May  non-evidential  motives  properly  influence  belief? 

SUMMARY  OF  PART  III 412 

What  is  the  present  status  of  theology? 

INDEX =417 


PKOBLEMS  OF  RELIGION 

INTRODUCTORY 

The  importance  of  the  study  of  religion 

(1)  Practically,  if  not  absolutely,  all  known  races  of 
men  have  been  in  some  sense  or  degree  religious;  and  to 
many  of  them  religion  has  been  the  most  vital  of  all  matters. 
Hence,  the  study  of  this  great  tract  of  human  interest  is  es- 
sential for  all  who  would  comprehend  what  the  life  of  man 
historically  has  been.  And  Christianity,  the  faith,  confessed 
or  potential,  of  the  great  majority  of  the  probable  readers 
of  this  book,  deserves  particular  attention  —  just  as  school 
geographies  properly  lay  special  stress  upon  the  topography 
of  the  State  in  which  they  are  to  be  used,  or  historical  cur- 
ricula upon  the  history  and  traditions  of  the  fatherland. 
But,  indeed,  objectively  considered,  if  we  may  judge  by  its 
results  achieved  and  its  evident  vitality  and  promise,  Chris- 
tianity is  the  greatest  of  all  religions,  and  bids  fair  to  be 
more  and  more  the  dominant  religion  of  the  world.  The 
purely  scientific  interest  in  religious  phenomena,  and  par- 
ticularly in  Christian  experience,  should,  then,  be  at  least  as 
great  as  that  in  any  other  field  open  to  our  research. 

(2)  But  more  than  this.  Religion  is  a  very  precious  pos- 
session, and  a  study  of  it  should  attract  those  who  feel  the 
lack  in  their  own  lives  of  its  comfort  and  inspiration.  There 
is  in  most  men  a  great  reservoir  of  potentiality  of  the  reli- 
gious life;  not  wholly  suffocated  by  material  interests,  not 
quite  choked  by  the  increase  of  knowledge  and  the  crum- 
bling of  antique  doctrines,  it  awaits  the  spreading  of  a  com- 


2  INTRODUCTORY 

prehension  of  the  possibilities  of  religious  living  apart  from 
discredited  dogmas,  to  flood  society  with  renewed  enthusi- 
asm and  power.  A  study  of  religion  is  practically  of  supreme 
importance  when  it  can  tap  this  latent  spirituality  and  lead 
to  an  espousal  of  the  religious  life. 

(S)  Again,  it  is  important  for  those  who  are  disturbed  in 
their  faith,  who  are  groping  for  light,  or  clinging  desperately 
to  doctrines  they  cannot  whole-heartedly  believe  because 
they  cannot  see  how  to  get  along  without  them;  for  those 
who  have  lost  their  childhood's  creed  and  turned  their  backs 
to  religion  because  that  creed  represented  the  only  religion 
they  knew.  Something  to  clarify  the  clouded  minds  of  such 
men  and  women,  religious  in  their  hearts  but  confused  in 
their  outlook  and  paralyzed  in  their  worship,  —  some  way 
of  harmonizing  the  conflicting  ideals  that  beset  them, — 
should  come  from  a  careful  study  of  facts  as  they  are. 

(4)  Even  those  who  are  happy  in  a  dogmatic  slumber, 
but  through  their  dogmatism  are  retarding  the  influence  of 
religion  in  the  world,  and  making  it  harder  for  others  to  find 
peace  and  religious  fellowship,  may  be  urged  for  the  general 
good  to  question  their  presuppositions  and  look  at  religion 
with  greater  detachment  from  prejudice  and  desire.  Only 
by  willingness  to  criticize  our  own  beliefs  and  confess  our 
individual  bias  can  we  hope  to  approach  to  anything  like  a 
mutual  understanding  and  working  agreement. 

(5)  Finally,  a  realization  of  the  dynamic  in  religion  should 
be  a  summons  to  those  who  are  not  helping  in  the  work 
Christianity  has  to  do  in  the  world;  should  reenlist  the  in- 
terest of  the  earnest,  intelligent,  able  men  and  women  who 
have  in  such  numbers  abandoned  the  churches.  Their  help 
is  needed,  badly  needed,  to  free  the  Church  from  those  out- 
grown conceptions  that  once  aided,  but  now  hamper  her; 
to  win  for  her  again  the  full  respect  of  the  thinking  world; 
and  to  keep  her  through  these  bewildering  changes  infused 


INTRODUCTORY  3 

with  such  earnest  idealism  that  she  may  be  the  power  for 
righteousness  of  which  the  world,  with  its  permanent  tempta- 
tion to  selfishness  and  lust  and  greed,  stands  now,  as  always, 
in  need. 

The  need  of  a  critical  attitude  toward  religion 

Truth  is  not  the  only  good  in  life;  nor  is  criticism,  however 
valid,  necessarily  desirable.  The  religious  spirit,  in  what- 
ever fantastic  garb  it  be  clothed,  and  however  irrational  the 
doctrines  by  which  it  seek  to  justify  itself,  is  more  beautiful 
and  valuable  than  any  accuracy  of  knowledge;  and  it  were 
better  to  leave  those  doctrines  uncriticized  —  if  that  were 
possible  —  than  to  weaken  or  maim  that  spirit.  But  there 
are  definite  and  important  reasons  why  a  scientific  attitude 
toward  religious  dogmas  has  become  our  imperative  duty. 

(1)  The  insistence  upon  irrational  views  interferes  badly 
with  the  spread  of  accurate  knowledge;  and,  more  than  that, 
the  spirit  of  dogmatism,  the  reluctance  to  criticize  and  re- 
consider beliefs  in  the  light  of  observation  and  experiment, 
stifles  that  free  and  impartial  study  of  evidence  which  has 
been  the  greatest  contribution  of  the  physical  sciences  to 
civilization.  As  will  be  shown  in  chapter  xvi,  historic  reli- 
gion —  and  notably  Christianity  —  has  been  a  very  disas- 
trous barrier  to  intellectual  progress.  For  this  reason,  then, 
we  must  be  willing  to  scrutinize  critically  our  deepest  be- 
liefs, because  we  want  the  truth;  and  we  cannot  be  sure  that 
we  have  the  truth,  that  we  are  not,  instead,  standing  in  the 
way  of  enlightenment,  unless  we  seriously  undertake  so 
to  do. 

(2)  But  for  the  sake  of  our  eventual  assurance  and  peace, 
we  must  purge  our  religion  of  its  superstition  and  error.  For 
however  we  may  cover  our  eyes  and  our  ears,  the  truths  that 
are  being  taught  by  archaeologists  and  anthropologists,  by 
historians  and  naturalists,  are  likely  sooner  or  later  to  trickle 


4  INTRODUCTORY 

into  our  consciousness  and  torture  us  with  misgivings.  And 
when  a  man  whose  religion  has  been  based  upon  unwarranted 
postulates  or  intertwined  with  illusory  assurances  finds  that 
he  has  been  in  so  far  deceived,  he  is  apt  to  lose  his  faith  en- 
tirely and  drift  into  skepticism  and  despair.  It  does  not  pay, 
in  the  long  run,  to  found  our  hopes  upon  what  the  best 
thought  of  the  age  disproves  or  renders  doubtful. 

(3)  And  finally,  for  the  sake  of  the  religion  itself  that  we 
love,  and  its  future  in  the  world,  we  must  submit  it  to  the 
surgical  operations  of  criticism.  Nine  tenths  of  the  attacks 
upon  Christianity  are  directed  against  the  unessential  and 
untrue  accretions  that  are  really  separable  from  its  inner 
kernel  of  living  truth.  Thus,  our  faith  has  become  to  some 
a  derision  and  a  laughing-stock,  and  by  others  has  been  cast 
impatiently  aside,  simply  because  the  churches  have  stood 
in  the  way  of  that  surgical  work  which  alone  can  save  it  — 
and  must  save  it  before  it  is  too  late.  Pious  ignorance  hurts 
the  cause  of  religion  almost  as  much  as  worldliness  and 
sin;  no  cause  can  be  safely  guarded  by  an  organization  or  a 
spirit  of  dogmatism  that  ignores  facts  and  turns  its  back 
upon  probabilities.  And  it  is  precisely  because  the  battle 
with  worldliness  and  sin  is  so  desperately  hard  and  long  that 
religion  must  rid  itself  of  its  impediments,  must  strip  for  the 
struggle.  It  is  entirely  needless  that  so  many  of  our  finest 
should  be  alienated  from  the  Church;  but  unless  we  accept 
the  situation,  excise  the  vulnerable  portions  of  our  creeds, 
and  adjust  our  doctrines  to  the  demands  of  the  contempo- 
rary intellect,  these  men  and  women  are  bound  to  drift  in 
greater  and  greater  numbers  away  from  the  Church,  and, 
very  often,  away  from  the  precious  truths  of  which  she  is  the 
appointed  teacher  and  custodian. 

It  was  the  vivid  realization  of  this  situation  that  drew 
Matthew  Arnold  into  writing  critically  of  religion;  and  his 
essays,  though  superseded  in  many  matters  by  the  work  and 


INTRODUCTORY  5 

thought  of  later  scholars,  are  a  notable  example  of  reverent 
attempt  to  prune  the  luxuriant  growths  of  religion,  and  by 
pruning  to  save  it.  There  were  those  who  expostulated  with 
him,  saying,  as  he  tells  us,  "Why  meddle  with  religion  at 
all?  Why  run  the  risk  of  breaking  a  tie  which  it  is  so  hard 
to  join  again?"  And  he  replies:  "The  risk  is  not  to  be  run 
lightly,  and  one  is  not  always  to  attack  people's  illusions 
about  religion  merely  because  illusions  they  are.  But  at  the 
present  moment  two  things  about  the  Christian  religion 
must  surely  be  clear  to  anybody  with  eyes  in  his  head.  One 
is,  that  men  cannot  do  without  it;  the  other,  that  they  can- 
not do  with  it  as  it  is."  l 

Matthew  Arnold  was  regarded  in  his  day  as  a  dangerous 
heretic;  but  to-day  there  are  very  many  in  the  churches  who 
realize  as  keenly  the  need  in  which  our  religion  stands  of 
revision  and  restatement.  Dean  Farrar,  for  example,  writes: 
"He  who  helps  to  disencumber  Christianity  from  dubious  or 
false  accretions  is  rendering  to  it  a  service  which  may  be 
more  urgently  necessary  than  if  he  composed  a  book  of  evi- 
dences." It  is  only  imposture  that  has  need  to  fear  the  light; 
and  the  Church  ought  not  merely  to  admit  the  truth  reluc- 
tantly, step  by  step,  but  to  take  the  lead  in  seeking  the  truth, 
whatever  time-honored  arguments  or  even  precious  assur- 
ances it  may  have  to  discard. 

It  is  not  pride  of  knowledge,  then,  or  a  scientific  dogma- 
tism, that  demands  a  revision  of  our  religious  ideas,  but  a 
realization  that  there  is  much  error  in  our  traditional  con- 
ceptions, and  that  the  truth  alone  ultimately  serves.  The 
results  of  such  a  revisory  work  will  by  many  be  stigmatized 
as  iconoclastic,  as  irreligious,  as  mischievous.  The  world's 
progress  has  always  been  accompanied  by  such  cries.   But 

1  Preface  to  God  and  the  Bible.  This  preface,  and  that  to  Literature  and 
Dogma,  admirably  state  the  point  here  insisted  upon. 


6  INTRODUCTORY 

the  world  does  progress,  and  if  we  are  to  keep  our  religion 
abreast  of  it  we  must  air  our  beliefs  in  all  currents  of  modern 
thought,  we  must  question  them  freely,  we  must  express  the 
results  of  our  reflection  fearlessly  and  openly.  To  be  afraid 
to  think  or  to  speak  out  our  thoughts  would  be  to  stifle  reli- 
gion and  bring  about  inevitable  decay.  And  then,  what 
seems  daring  and  subversive  to-day  will  be  taken  for  granted 
to-morrow;  as  Arnold  says,  "The  freethinking  of  one  age  is 
the  commonplace  of  the  next." 

But,  after  all,  it  does  not  rest  with  us  to  decide  whether 
religion  shall  be  criticized  or  no.  Destructive  criticism  has 
long  been  abroad,  criticism  that  fails  to  do  justice  to  the 
truths  it  discards,  that  throws  away  the  kernel  with  the 
husk.  This  anti-religious  propaganda  is  having  its  ill  effects 
upon  the  religious  spirit  of  the  age.  To  save  religion  itself  — 
or  so  much  of  it  as  is  true  and  worthy  our  allegiance  —  de- 
mands our  efforts.  And  to  accomplish  a  just  and  adequate 
reconstruction  we  need  first  to  go  through  the  purgatorial 
fires  of  criticism.  Religion  must  be  solidly  based  on  fact; 
unless  it  is  willing  to  look  science  and  history  in  the  face  and 
adjust  itself  to  their  results,  it  cannot  long  continue  to  live. 

Yet  let  us  throughout  remember  that  to  live  the  religious 
life  is  more  important  than  to  understand  the  truth  about 
religion;  and  while  willing  ourselves  to  sacrifice  whatever 
may  be  required  to  the  attainment  of  that  truth,  let  us, 
wherever  we  have  to  do  with  what  has  inspired  and  com- 
forted men,  walk  reverently  and  with  unshod  feet;  for  the 
ground  whereon  we  tread  is  holy  ground. 


PART  I 
HISTORICAL 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  ORIGINS  OF  RELIGION 

Religion,  as  we  view  it  historically,  is  a  complex  com- 
posite, woven  of  many  strands  that  stretch  back  into  the 
remote  past.  Our  task  in  this  chapter  is  to  trace  some  of  the 
more  important  of  these  sources,  and  give  a  rapid  pen-pic- 
ture of  the  mental  attitudes  of  primitive  man  that  combined 
to  make  him  religious. 

The  sources  of  primitive  religious  ideas  and  practices 

I.  The  precarious  situation  of  primitive  man.  When  man, 
scarcely  yet  more  than  a  brute,  begins  to  think  about  his 
needs  and  to  strive  consciously  for  those  ends  toward  which 
blind  instinct  has  hitherto  driven  him,  he  finds  himself  in  a 
precarious  and  uncertain  situation.  He  rears  a  rude  shelter 
—  the  storm  batters  it,  the  winds  shake  it,  the  lightning 
threatens  to  destroy  it;  he  plants  a  few  seeds  to  insure  him- 
self food  —  the  sun  scorches  them  and  the  drought  spoils  the 
fruit  of  his  labors;  the  tempest  buffets  him,  the  thunder  ter- 
rifies him  —  he  realizes  his  helplessness  before  these  powers 
that  are  so  much  greater  than  he,  and  on  whose  kindly  aid 
he  is  dependent  for  his  prosperity,  nay,  his  very  existence. 
Lucretius  observes  that  men  "much  more  keenly  in  evil 
days  turn  their  minds  to  religion."  l  And,  indeed,  that  robust 
old  atheist  elsewhere  confesses,  "Who  is  there  whose  mind 
does  not  shrink  into  itself  with  fear  of  the  gods,  whose  limbs 
do  not  creep  with  terror  when  the  parched  earth  rocks  under 
the  terrible  blast  of  the  thunderbolt,  and  the  roaring  sound 
1  De  Rerum  Natura,  hi,  53. 


10  HISTORICAL 

sweeps  across  the  heavens?  ...  Or  when  the  full  fury  of  the 
wild  wind  scours  the  sea  and  drives  across  its  expanse  the 
commander  with  his  brave  legions  and  his  elephants,  does 
he  not  in  prayer  seek  peace  with  the  gods?"  x  Thus  it  was 
commonly  repeated  in  antiquity  that  fear  made  the  gods; 
fear,  and,  we  may  add,  hope;  that  despair  of  man  at  his  own 
frail  faculties  that  cries  out  to  some  one,  to  any  one,  for  help. 
When  it  is  fear  of  his  fellow  man,  or  of  the  brutes,  he  is  not 
without  means  of  self -protection;  but  when  his  apprehension 
is  of  those  physical  forces  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  which 
so  often  menace  his  welfare  and  his  life,  he  knows  not  how  to 
save  himself.  Ignorant  for  the  most  part  as  yet  how  to  meet 
these  dangers  by  physical  means,  and  under  the  need  of 
doing  something  to  ward  off  the  evil,  he  cries  out,  he  gesticu- 
lates, he  commands,  he  beseeches  these  Powers  not  to  harm 

him.2 

All  this  is  prior  to  any  definite  formulation  of  the  idea  of  a 
god  or  spirit;  it  is  mere  spontaneous  psychological  reaction. 
Magic,  —  the  attempt  to  coerce  the  surrounding  Powers  by 
incantations  and  mysterious  rites,  —  prayers,  sacrifices  for 
appeasement,  vows  —  all  such  activities  antedated  articu- 
late belief;  it  was  in  his  quieter  and  more  reflective  moments, 
no  doubt,  and  as  an  explanation  and  justification  of  these  in- 
stinctive acts,  that  primitive  man  attained  to  a  definite  and 
steady  belief  in  quasi-human  Beings  behind  the  blessings  and 
catastrophes  that  befell  him.  Indeed,  among  many  savage 
races  but  lately  studied,  there  has  been  no  real  personalizing 

1  De  Rerum  Naiura,  v,  1210. 

2  Animals  also  may  whine  and  tremble  in  the  presence  of  danger.  But 
man  alone,  with  his  dawning  self-consciousness,  remembers  the  danger, 
reflects  upon  it,  realizes  the  precariousness  of  his  situation  and  his  depend- 
ence upon  the  Powers  about  him.  It  is  man's  faculty  of  imagination,  con- 
structive thought,  and  auto-suggestion,  his  ability  to  react  to  unperceived 
and  merely  imagined  objects,  that  develops  out  of  these  otherwise  transi- 
tory and  vague  moods  a  permanent,  if  flickering,  conception  of  superhuman 
Powers  besetting  him. 


THE  ORIGINS   OF  RELIGION  11 

of  nature-forces.  We  have  in  the  Algonkin  "manitou" 
and  the  Melanesian  "mana"  a  mysterious  potency,  a  vital 
power,  recognized  in  things,  to  be  reckoned  with  and  dealt 
with  cautiously,  but  not  clearly  personal.  Of  the  aborigines 
of  Australia  we  are  told  by  various  observers  that  they  offer 
no  sacrifices  or  prayers  to  any  personal  Beings.  But  "even 
though  they  appeal  to  no  spirits  in  their  ceremonies,  these 
ceremonies  do  express  valuational  attitudes  of  a  definitely 
religious  character."  1  That  cultural  stage  characterized 
by  vague  fears  of  the  supernatural,  when  man  was  as  yet 
hardly  conscious  of  the  fact  of  personality  in  himself,  and 
so  hardly  postulating  personality  of  natural  forces,  has  been 
termed  by  recent  writers  the  pre-animistic  stage.2 

i7.  The  spontaneous  attribution  of  life  and  will  to  inanimate 
objects.  As  man's  mental  life  became  more  acute,  there  was 
an  inevitable  tendency  toward  the  genuine  personification 
of  the  powers  of  nature.  William  James  tells  us  3  how  irre- 
sistibly he  was  dominated  by  the  impulse  to  think  of  the 
great  San  Francisco  earthquake  —  which  he  felt  at  Palo 
Alto  —  as  a  living  being.  It  was  The  Earthquake;  it  stole 
into  his  room,  it  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat;  it  ex- 
ulted in  its  power.  He  reports,  further,  that  practically 
every  one  experienced  a  similar  psychological  reaction,  even 
those  who,  like  him,  were  most  accustomed  to  scientific  con- 
cepts and  abstract  analysis.  It  is,  thus,  only  our  sophistica- 
tion and  intellectual  maturity  that  prevent  us  from  feeling 
all  natural  forces,  or  at  least  the  violent  and  dangerous  ones, 
as  endowed  with  personality.  So  an  English  writer,  describ- 
ing his  own  experience  as  a  boy:  "Sitting  on  the  hillside 
when  the  hot  season  was  coming  near  its  end  he  saw  the 

1  King,  p.  171,  footnote.  Throughout  this  book,  works  named  in  the 
bibliography  at  the  close  of  a  chapter  will  be  referred  to  in  the  footnotes  of 
that  chapter  by  the  author's  name  only. 

2  See  Marett,  chaps,  i,  iv. 

3  "The  Earthquake,"  in  Memories  and  Studies. 


12  HISTORICAL 

thunderstorms  come  across  the  hills.  From  far  away  they 
came,  black  shadows  in  the  distance,  and  the  thunder  like 
far-off  surf  upon  the  shore.  Nearer  they  would  grow  and 
nearer,  passing  from  ridge  to  ridge,  their  long  white  skirts 
trailing  upon  the  mountain-sides,  until  they  came  right  over- 
head and  the  lightning  flashed  blindingly,  while  the  thunder 
roared  in  great  trumpet  tones  that  shuddered  through  the 
gorges.  The  man  watched  them  and  he  saw  how  gods  were 
born.  It  was  Thor  come  back  again  —  Thor  with  his  ham- 
mer, Thor  with  his  giant  voice.  Thus  were  born  the  gods. 
Thor  and  Odin,  Balder,  God  of  the  Summer  Sun,  Apollo 
and  Vulcan,  Ahriman  and  Ormuz,  night  and  day."  l 

We  must  remember  that  all  those  physical  events,  the  in- 
tricate causes  of  which  our  modern  science  explores,  are  to 
the  savage  pure  mystery,  inexplicable  and  arbitrary.  Hav- 
ing no  idea  of  natural  causation,  as  we  now  understand  it,  he 
instinctively  regards  all  the  moving  objects  about  him  after 
the  nearest  analogy  he  has,  his  own  life.  When  they  harm 
him  he  ascribes  to  them  the  feelings  he  has  when  he  injures 
another;  when  they  favor  him  he  imagines  them  kindly  dis- 
posed ;  by  a  na'ive  and  natural  fallacy  he  reads  into  them  his 
own  emotions  and  thinks  of  their  activity,  now  beneficent, 
now  baneful,  as  caused  by  intermittently  friendly  and  mali- 
cious impulses  such  as  he  finds  in  his  own  heart.  The  burn- 
ing, warming  sun,  the  portentous  and  muttering  thunder- 
head,  the  broad,  majestic  river  that  brings  fertility  or  flood 

1  H.  Fielding  Hall,  The  Hearts  of  Men,  p.  72.  Cf.  Gilbert  Murray,  Four 
Stages  of  Greek  Religion,  p.  25:  "The  process  of  making  winds  and  rivers 
into  anthropomorphic  gods  is,  for  the  most  part,  not  the  result  of  using  the 
imagination  with  special  vigour.  It  is  the  result  of  not  doing  so.  The  wind 
is  obviously  alive;  any  fool  can  see  that.  Being  alive,  it  blows;  how?  why, 
naturally;  just  as  you  and  I  blow.  It  knocks  things  down,  it  shouts  and 
dances.  It  whispers  and  talks.  And,  unless  we  are  going  to  make  a  great 
effort  of  the  imagination  and  try  to  realize,  like  a  scientific  man,  just  what 
really  happens,  we  naturally  assume  that  it  does  these  things  in  the  normal 
way,  in  the  only  way  we  know." 


THE  ORIGINS  OF  RELIGION  13 

to  his  soil,  the  treacherous,  rushing  winds  —  these  are  all 
living  beings  to  him,  beings  greater  and  more  powerful 
than  he;  they  are  his  gods.1 

///.  Dreams  and  the  mystery  of  death.  Another  source  of 
the  belief  in  spirits  is  the  inability  of  primitive  men  to  real- 
ize the  fact  of  death.  Having  no  comprehension  of  the  actual 
relations  of  mind  and  body,  or  of  the  hopeless  finality,  for 
our  mundane  experience,  of  death,  they  are  slow  to  grasp 
the  fact  that  he  who  was  greatly  honored  or  feared  but  the 
other  day  is  now  utterly  non-existent  and  without  power  for 
their  weal  or  woe.  Do  not  men  lie  as  still  when  heavy  with 
sleep,  or  in  a  drunken  stupor,  when  stunned  or  fainting  or  in 
an  epileptic  trance?  Yet  these  still  live,  for  they  return  to 
action.  Moreover,  in  one's  own  dreams  has  one  not  left  one's 
body  lying  still  and  traveled  afar,  unseen  and  unheard  by 
others?  Perhaps,  then,  while  this  hero's  body  is  lying  as  if 
in  sleep,  the  real  person  that  feels  and  acts,  inside  of  the 
body,  has  but  left  it  lying  here  and  is  still  about,  continuing 
a  sort  of  dream  life,  wherefrom  he  may  perchance  still  help 
or  harm  the  living.  If  his  personality  was  powerful  and  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  men,  they  will  still  see  him  and 
talk  with  him  in  dreams;  the  nervous  and  emotional  will 
fancy  they  see  him  as  ghost  or  apparition  while  awake; 
these  rumors,  quickly  magnified  as  they  spread,  will  leave 
no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  those  who  feared  or  revered  him. 
Ought  he  not,  then,  to  be  propitiated,  to  be  besought  for 
help?  If  an  untoward  misfortune  befalls  the  tribe,  perhaps  he 
is  angry  at  being  so  soon  forgotten;  if  good  fortune  comes, 
perhaps  it  was  his  unseen  assistance.  The  tribe  unites  in 
offering  him  sacrifices,  he  becomes  a  tribal  god. 

In  a  society  where  patriarchal  authority  or  the  power  of 
the  chieftain  was  strong,  —  as  was  the  case  very  generally 
through  a  long  period  of  early  human  history,  —  the  worship 
1  See,  for  examples,  E.  B.  Tylor,  Primitive  Culture. 


14  HISTORICAL 

of  ancestors  or  tribal  chiefs,  thought  of  as  still  continuing 
some  sort  of  a  shadowy  existence,  was  almost  inevitable. 
Some  students  1  have  gone  so  far  as  to  conclude  that  all  the 
gods  were  originally  human  heroes,  glorified  by  the  apotheo- 
sis of  time.  There  is  no  doubt  that  many  have  thus  come 
into  suppositious  existence,  for  the  process  has  been  carried 
on  into  historic  times,  in  the  deification  of  prophets  and 
seers  and  kings.  Moreover,  the  spirit  of  a  deceased  chieftain 
might  be  thought  to  abide  on  some  remote  mountain-peak, 
whence  he  sent  showers  or  thunderbolts  upon  his  people; 
and  hence  Beings  generally  regarded  as  nature-gods  might 
readily  have  sprung  from  this  other  source.  Crop-  and 
wine-gods  may  have  arisen  from  the  custom  of  bringing 
food  and  drink  to  the  graves  of  the  dead.2  But  the  personi- 
fication of  natural  forces  is  also  so  instinctive  a  process  that 
there  seems  little  doubt  of  the  reality  of  both  sources  of  the 
conception  of  gods.  Among  some  peoples  nature-gods  seem 
to  predominate,  among  others  —  as  still  in  China  —  an- 
cestor- or  chief -worship  is  more  prominent.  But  in  China 
there  is  the  worship  of  Heaven,  and  in  Rome  there  were 
the  Manes,  amid  a  host  of  nature-gods;  almost  everywhere 
the  two  strands  mingle  in  a  way  difficult  or  impossible  now 
to  disentangle. 

IV.  Abnormal  and  mysterious  experiences.  Those  are  the 
two  principal  sources  of  the  conception  of  gods  —  the  ani- 
mation of  physical  objects  and  the  ascription  of  continued 
life  to  the  dead.  But  every  mysterious  experience  no  doubt 
aided  the  growth  of  such  beliefs.  The  uncanny  phenomena 
of  clairvoyance  and  hypnotism,  photisms  and  auditory  hal- 
lucinations, multiple  personality  and  automatisms  —  all 
those  curious  experiences  that  have  filled  the  fives  of  saints 

1  For  example,  Herbert  Spencer  and  Grant  Allen. 

2  For  concrete  instances  of  the  "making  of  a  god"  in  such  wise,  see 
J.  E.  Harrison,  Prolegomena  to  the  Study  of  Greek  Religion,  chap.  vn. 


THE  ORIGINS  OF  RELIGION  15 

and  nowadays  fill  the  treatises  on  abnormal  psychology  — 
were  not  unknown  to  the  savage,  and  no  doubt  increased 
his  sense  of  an  unseen  world  about  him.  By  many  primitive 
peoples  these  abnormal  experiences  were  actually  cultivated 
and  assumed  considerable  importance.  We  have  in  historic 
times  the  well-known  Greek  oracles,  the  early  Hebrew 
prophets,  the  Mohammedan  dervishes,  the  Shamans  of 
Siberia,  practicing  automatic  utterance;  we  have  the  clair- 
voyant Witch  of  Endor  consulted  by  Saul,  and  the  Cumsean 
Sibyl  with  her  vision  of  the  future. 

The  fact  is,  once  the  general  conception  of  unseen  quasi- 
human  Beings  becomes  generally  accepted,  anything  may 
give  rise  to  a  new  one.  So  the  Arabs  have  their  djinns  and 
demons,  the  Irish  their  "  little  people  ";  and  elves,  satyrs, 
fauns,  mermaids,  and  a  thousand  other  imagined  beings, 
dance  about  the  world,  in  addition  to  the  larger  and  more 
important  Powers.  Once  originated,  anyhow  and  anywhere, 
such  fancies  grow  and  spread  like  gossip.  Primitive  man  has 
little  critical  faculty  or  basis  of  experience  from  which  to 
judge  any  .tale  he  may  be  told;  whatever  plays  upon  his  emo- 
tions, his  fears,  and  his  hopes  —  the  terrifying,  the  comfort- 
ing, the  awe-inspiring  —  is  readily  accepted  and  tenaciously 
held  by  his  mind.  For  that  matter,  almost  up  to  the  present 
time  every  village  had  its  ghost  stories;  and  the  more  back- 
ward localities,  though  restrained  by  their  allegiance  to 
Christianity  from  developing  a  worship  of  gods,  were  full 
of  fairies,  banshees,  apparitions,  and  superstitions.  The 
rapid  spread  of  the  belief  in  witchcraft  even  among  the 
educated,  only  a  few  generations  ago,  shows  further  how 
naturally  credulous  is  the  human  mind,  and  how  reluc- 
tant to  banish  beliefs,  however  irrational,  that  appeal  to 
the  imagination  and  emotions.1 

1  For  the  "abnormal"  element  in  primitive  religion,  see  Pratt,  chap, 
in,  sec.  3;  Lang,  chaps,  iv-vii. 


16  HISTORICAL 

V.  Reflection  upon  the  origin  of  things.  Further,  as  man, 
with  his  developing  reflective  power,  came  to  reason  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  things  in  general,  —  all  the  great 
world  that  he  could  not  have  made  himself,  so  vast  is  it  and 
wonderful,  —  he  naturally  conjectured  that  some  greater 
Being,  supremely  powerful  and  intelligent,  was  its  creator. 
Imaginative  men  would  invent  tales  of  how  the  world  came 
into  existence,  as  well  as  explanations  in  terms  of  super- 
human activity  for  all  that  seemed  mysterious  and  inex- 
plicable. Best  known  to  us,  of  course,  are  the  two  accounts 
given,  respectively,  in  the  first  two  chapters  of  Genesis. 
But  these  are  only  variant  forms  of  legends  far  older,  and 
common,  in  one  shape  or  another,  to  many  primitive  peoples. 
Children  to-day,  at  a  certain  stage  of  mental  awakening, 
are  apt  to  puzzle  over  the  problem  of  origins,  and  to  work 
out  by  themselves  some  fantastic  or  plausible  solution. 
The  creator-god  is  likely,  however,  to  be  rather  remote  and 
intangible,  and  unless  identified,  as  by  the  Hebrews,  with 
the  intimate  tribal  god,  to  have  little  real  significance  for 
the  practical  religious  life.1 

VI.  Man's  need  of  deliverance  from  himself.  These  super- 
natural figures  are,  moreover,  only  the  framework  of  religion; 
its  rites,  its  practices,  its  laws  of  conduct,  its  attitudes  of 
heart  and  will,  are  from  the  earliest  times  the  real  content 
of  religion,  as  a  phase  of  human  life.  The  gods  of  mankind 
have  been  not  only  quasi-physical  Powers  supposed  to  in- 
habit the  earth  or  the  heavens,  they  have  also  been  actual 
moral  forces,  speaking  in  men's  conscience,  warning  them 
from  sin,  enjoining  upon  them  practices  and  ideals  of  life 
which  to  some  extent  have  actually  guided  their  action. 
Primitive  man  has,  to  be  sure,  no  comprehension  whatever 
of  the  rational  grounds  of  right  conduct;  he  feels  only  the 
vague  inner  impulse  to  certain  acts,  or  the  pressure  of  the 

1  See  Lang,  p.  199;  Leuba,  p.  96/. 


THE  ORIGINS  OF  RELIGION  17 

community- will.  But  the  condition  of  success  in  his  life,  in- 
deed, of  life  at  all,  is  the  superposition  of  moral  obligations 
upon  those  immediate  animal  impulses  which  uncontrolled 
would  give  him  but  a  brutish  and  brief  existence.  He 
is  in  need  of  repressing  some  of  his  most  powerful  im- 
pulses for  more  ultimate  ends,  and  of  submitting  his  per- 
sonal will  to  those  larger  loyalties  which  make  social  life 
possible.  He  can  only  dimly  understand  these  necessities, 
but  he  can  feel  their  force;  and  as  they  often  cross  his  im- 
mediate wishes,  and  are  easily  transgressed,  penalties  are 
early  enforced  by  the  tribe  to  insure  obedience  to  them,  and 
they  are  commanded  by  those  in  authority  together  with 
the  rites  and  duties  which  are  to  be  performed  to  the  tribal 
god.1  What  more  natural  than  that  these  moral  duties  should 
also  be  thought  of  as  duties  to  the  god,  and  the  inner  voice 
of  conscience  interpreted  as  his  commands  to  the  indi- 
vidual? The  felt  authority  of  the  moral  law  seems  to  give 
an  additional  testimony  to  the  existence  of  the  god  whose 
will  it  is  supposed  to  be,  and  the  belief  in  the  god  lends  its 
prestige  and  awe  to  the  moral  obligations.  Thus,  as  men 
emerge  more  and  more  from  their  animal  state  and  formu- 
late ideals  of  life,  they  usually  express  their  service  to  the 
ideal  in  terms  of  service  to  some  god. 

Religion,  we  have  said,  owes  its  origin  in  part  to  the  need 
of  deliverance  from  the  menace  of  the  powers  of  nature. 
But  man  early  feels  the  need  of  a  further  deliverance,  a 
deliverance  from  himself;  from  his  restlessness  and  cross- 
purposes,  from  the  weight  of  selfishness  and  sin.  The  pleas- 
ures which  he  seeks  too  often  turn  to  ashes  in  his  hands, 
the  passions  that  lure  him  on  leave  him  dissatisfied,  he  is 
the  victim  of  his  own  impulses  and  longings,  often  impotent 
to  attain  his  ends  and  without  any  lasting  satisfaction  for  his 

1  For  an  account  of  the  origin  of  morality,  see  my  Problems  of  Conduct, 
chaps,  i-iii. 


18  HISTORICAL 

bewildered  heart.  In  a  happy  environment,  as  among  the 
Greeks,  he  may  live  in  the  moment  and  turn  away  from  this 
reflective  depression;  but  when  life  presses  hard  upon  him 
he  finds  himself  lonely  and  weary  and  heavy-laden.  To 
what,  to  whom,  shall  he  turn  for  safety,  for  guidance,  for  any 
lasting  joy  and  peace? 

The  usual  means  of  deliverance  that  occurred  to  man  was 
an  appeal  to  those  superhuman  Powers  by  which  he  so 
readily  believed  himself  surrounded.  Some  god  became  to 
him  a  savior  not  only  from  outward  harm,  but  from  inward 
confusion  and  unrest;  in  his  service  he  found  the  depersonal- 
izing and  unifying  principle  which  could  give  his  life  dignity 
and  peace.  Uncultivated  man  is  unable  to  grasp  readily  the 
abstract  conception  of  a  life  free  from  personal  desires,  a 
life  of  self -forgetting  service;  but  he  finds  this  fife,  which 
alone  can  lift  the  human  heart  permanently  above  internal 
discord  and  personal  fears,  in  the  concrete  conception  of 
loyalty  to  his  god. 

Religion,  it  is  clear,  has  its  historic  roots  in  the  great 
welter  of  primitive  superstition;  for  this  reason  it  has  be- 
come discredited  in  many  eyes.  But  this  is  a  hasty  deduc- 
tion. It  often  happens  that  beliefs  originating  in  misunder- 
standing and  false  reasoning  turn  out  to  have,  after  all, 
the  profoundest  truth  in  them.  Few  of  our  most  assured 
beliefs  can  afford  to  boast  of  their  lineage;  reason  tests, 
but  seldom  originates.1  So  we  need  not  look  askance  at  the 
great  gods  of  mankind  because  they  have  emerged  from  a 
confused  host  of  imaginary  supernatural  Beings  cf  little  or 
no  religious  value.  Religion  is  something  that  has  come  out 
of  this  chaos;  and  its  value,  now  that  we  have  it,  is  independ- 
ent of  its  source.    It  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  that  a 

1  Cf.  what  I  have  said  of  the  humble  origin  of  morality  in  Problems  of 
Conduct,  pp.  173-74. 


THE  ORIGINS  OF  RELIGION  19 

supernatural  Being  is  not,  ipso  facto,  a  god ;  it  is  "  only 
when  he  enters  into  some  stated  relation  with  men,  or  rather 
with  some  community  of  men."  1  It  is  not  until  supersti- 
tion is  infused  with  moral,  or  spiritual,  values  that  it  be- 
comes worthy  of  the  name  religion. 

C.  H.  Toy,  Introduction  to  the  History  of  Religions  (with  bib- 
liographies). I.  King,  Development  of  Religion.  A.  Menzies, 
History  of  Religion,  pt.  I.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  A  History  of 
Religions,  Introduction.  R.  R.  Marett,  Threshold  of  Religion. 
G.  Galloway,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  88-131.  L.  T.  Hobhouse, 
Morals  in  Evolution,  pt.  u,  chap.  i.  E.  S.  Ames,  Psychology  of  Re- 
ligious Experience,  pt.  n.  J.  B.  Pratt,  Psychology  of  Religious 
Belief,  chap.  in.  D.  G.  Brinton,  Religions  of  Primitive  Peoples. 
F.  B.  Jevons,  Introduction  to  the  History  of  Religion.  J.  H.  Leuba, 
Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  pt.  n.  A.  Lang,  Making  of  Religion. 
E.  Clodd,  Animism.  H.  Spencer,  Descriptive  Sociology;  Principles  of 
Sociology,  vol.  i,  chaps,  viii-xvii.  G.  Allen,  Evolution  of  the  Idea 
of  God.  A.  Sabatier,  Outlines  of  a  Philosophy  of  Religion,  bk.  I., 
chap.  I.  W.  Bousset,  What  is  Religion,  chap.  n.  American  Journal 
of  Religious  Psychology,  vol.  2,  pp.  12.  57.  Schaff-Herzog  Encyclo- 
pedia of  Religious  Knowledge,  art.  Comparative  Religion. 

1  W.  R.  Smith,  Religion  of  the  Semites,  p.  112. 


CHAPTER  II 

GREEK  AND  ROMAN  RELIGION 

The  peoples  of  Christendom  for  a  long  time  treated  all 
the  non-Christian  religions  as  simply  "  heathen  "  and  there- 
fore unworthy  of  anything  but  disproof  and  contempt. 
Later,  a  few  came  to  investigate  with  some  curiosity  and 
tolerance  their  queer  customs  and  outlandish  names.  Only 
recently  have  they  sought  to  look  at  them  from  the  inside, 
to  get  at  what  they  meant  to  those  who  believed  and  prac- 
tised them,  and  see  if  there  be  not  in  them  some  inspiration 
for  us  too,  some  lesson  which  we  can  incorporate  into  our 
own  faith  and  practice.  It  is  in  this  friendlier  and  more 
sympathetic  spirit  that  we  would  approach  them.1 

As  our  space  is  limited,  we  can  only  touch  upon  one  or 
two  of  the  many  forms  which  religion  assumed  as  the  race 
became  civilized;  and  then,  in  somewhat  greater  detail,  we 
will  recount  the  history  of  the  Hebrew-Christian  religion, 

1  This  spirit  was  well  expressed  by  an  old  and  little-known  writer, 
Maximus  of  Tyre:  "God  himself  ...  is  unnamable  by  any  lawgiver,  un- 
utterable by  any  voice,  not  to  be  seen  by  any  eye.  But  we,  being  unable 
to  apprehend  his  essence,  use  the  help  of  sounds  and  names  and  pictures 
.  .  .  yearning  for  the  knowledge  of  Him  .  .  .  like  earthly  lovers,  [who  are] 
happy  in  the  sight  of  anything  that  wakens  the  memory  of  the  beloved.  .  .  . 
If  a  Greek  is  stirred  to  the  remembrance  of  God  by  the  art  of  Pheidias,  an 
Egyptian  by  paying  worship  to  animals,  another  man  by  a  river,  another 
by  fire,  I  have  no  anger  for  their  divergences;  only  let  them  know,  let  them 
love,  let  them  remember."  (Quoted  by  Murray,  p.  98,  more  fully.)  To  this 
we  may  add  Emerson's  "The  religions  we  call  false  were  once  true.  They 
also  were  affirmations  of  the  conscience,  correcting  the  evil  customs  of 
their  times."    ("Character,"  in  Lectures  and  Biographies.) 

Cf .  also,  on  the  study  of  ancient  religions,  American  Journal  of  Philology, 
vol.  29,  p.  156. 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN  RELIGION  21 

which  has  become,  through  a  dramatic  series  of  events,  the 
dominant  faith  of  the  world.  But  we  must  not  fail  to  speak 
of  that  beautiful  Hellenic  religion  which,  though  utterly- 
vanished  from  the  earth  in  its  literal  acceptation,  has  fur- 
nished and  still  furnishes  such  inspiration  for  a"rt,  for  liter- 
ature, and  for  life,  that  it  is  fitly  called  "  the  mother-tongue 
of  the  imagination."  l 

In  what  striking  ways  did  religion  develop  in  Greece? 

(1)  Prior  to  the  conquest  of  Greece  by  the  Aryan  invaders 
of  the  second  millennium  B.C.,  there  had  been  a  civilization 
in  some  respects  brilliant  among  the  pre-Hellenic  inhabi- 
tants of  the  peninsula;  this  age  is  now  generally  termed  the 
Mycenaean  or  ^Egean  Age.  Of  its  religion  our  knowledge 
is  uncertain ;  but  it  included  many  elements  that  persisted, 
like  the  people  themselves,  and  mingled  with  the  religion 
of  the  conquering  race.  Through  all  the  classic  period  we 
find  traces  of  popular  beliefs  and  rites,  festivals  and  sac- 
rifices, whose  origin  dates  far  back  before  the  Hellenic  (or 
Achaean)  invasions.  But  it  is  not  those  survivals  that  most 
interest  us,  or  such  elements  in  the  superimposed  religion 
as  were  similar;  it  is  rather  the  differentiating  characteristics 
of  the  Olympian  religion,  those  powerful  gods  that  came 
down  from  the  north  with  the  invaders  and  made  their  home, 
according  to  common  belief,  upon  Mount  Olympus.  These 
gods  of  the  "  buccaneer  kings  "  of  the  age  of  the  migrations 
—  the  Heroic  Age,  as  we  have  been  accustomed  to  call  it  — 
were  themselves  at  that  time  little  more  than  "  a  gang  of 
conquering  chieftains,"  the  reflection  in  the  skies  of  their 
worshipers.  But  as  the  Achaeans  mingled  with  the  indigen- 
ous peoples  and  became  more  civilized,  these  "  savage 
old  Olympians  "  2  turned  gentler  too;  splendid,  aristocratic 

1  G.  Santayana,  Poetry  and  Religion,  p.  56. 

2  These  phrases  are  from  Murray. 


22  HISTORICAL 

figures  as  they  remained,  they  dominated  the  dawning  eul- 
ture  of  Hellas,  giving  to  it  a  common  religion,  far  cleaner 
and  more  wholesome,  freer  from  debasing  superstitions, 
from  obscene  and  bloody  rites,  than  the  native  cults  which 
it  assimilated  or  superseded. 

(2)  The  lordly  Olympians  were  at  the  outset  chiefly  or 
wholly  personifications  of  natural  forces;  Zeus,  for  example, 
was  the  same  sky-god  that  we  find  in  the  Sanskrit  Dyaus 
and  the  Roman  Jove.  But  the  popular  imagination  of  this 
singularly  imaginative  race,  and  the  bards  in  whom  it 
abounded,  delighted  in  weaving  stories  about  them,  re- 
fining out  much  of  the  cruelty  of  nature's  ways  that  clings 
hard  to  nature-gods,  until  they  created  the  glorious  company 
of  the  Homeric  pantheon,  and,  finally,  the  Zeus  of  ^Eschylus 
and  Pheidias,  the  Hermes  of  Praxiteles,  the  Aphrodite  of 
Melos  —  still,  as  she  stands,  armless  and  on  alien  soil,  the 
highest  human  conception  of  queenly  womanhood.  Already, 
in  the  earliest  extant  literature  of  the  Hellenes,  their  gods 
are  half-detached  from  their  natural  sources  and  endowed 
with  human  emotions  and  purposes  apart  from  those  which 
might  have  been  read  into  observed  events.  The  needs  of 
the  people  had  seized  upon  myths  once  purely  natural, 
found  types  of  human  fortunes  in  them,  and  developed  in 
them  new  meanings.  Poets  and  story-tellers,  with  their 
love  of  the  dramatic  and  the  picturesque,  had  projected 
their  own  impulses  into  these  beings  so  vividly  real  to  them, 
and  had  woven  about  them  many  adventures,  plausible 
because  human-like,  but  no  longer  a  mere  interpretation 
of  phenomena.  Thus,  the  gods,  sharing  human  passions 
and  sorrows,  were  brought  nearer  to  men,  and  their  en- 
larged powers  and  greater  perfection  became  a  more  ade- 
quate picture  of  man's  aspirations  and  ideals.  And  thus 
many  of  the  tales  of  the  gods,  when  collated  and  system- 
atized in  the  latter  days  —  as,  notably,  by  Hesiod  —  had 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN  RELIGION  23 

little  relevance  left  to  the  life  of  nature,  the  original  nucleus 
of  transparent  myth  having  been  engulfed  by  the  new  in- 
terest which  had  attached  to  them. 

Mythology  is  the  product  of  the  poetic  faculty  working 
upon  that  primitive  and  instinctive  animism  or  spiritism 
which  is  also,  and  earlier,  the  material  for  religion.  The 
conduct-reaction  upon  it,  together  with  the  feelings  of 
reverence,  awe,  worship,  and  the  like,  constitute  religion; 
the  playful,  detached,  imaginative  attitude  toward  it  pro- 
duces mythology.1  In  classic  Greece  the  poetic  and  ar- 
tistic results  overshadow  for  us  the  more  serious  develop- 
ment. And  it  is,  within  limits,  true  that  "  the  less  seriously 
the  gods  are  taken,  the  more  luxuriantly  does  mythology 
flourish  ";  it  was  frowned  upon  by  the  pious,  and  must  not 
be  taken  as  an  adequate  expression  of  the  religion  that 
existed  by  its  side.  Yet  the  development  and  expurgation 
that  were  made,  instinctively,  perhaps,  by  the  humanity 
and  refinement  of  the  Ionian  bards,  and  consciously  by 
the  later  philosopher-poets,  influenced  the  religion  itself 
profoundly,  and  helped  to  make  it  superior  to  the  other  re- 
ligions of  the  ancient  world  in  certain  respects  which  we 
shall  be  ready,  in  a  moment,  to  note. 

(3)  This  Olympian  religion,  which  left  such  a  deep  im- 
press upon  the  literature  and  art  of  classic  Greece,  was 
never,  however,  the  whole  of  Greek  religion.  The  mystery- 
worship  of  Eleusis,  and  the  Orphic  brotherhoods,  which 
came  into  prominence  in  the  seventh  century  B.C.,  and 
were  probably  a  revival  or  outgrowth  of  pre-Olympian  cults, 
maintained  a  vigorous  life  long  after  the  Olympians  had 
vanished,  yielding  finally  only  to  the  Christian  conquest, 
although  their  outward  expressions  —  initiation  ceremo- 
nies, lustrations,  sacrifices,  processions,  pseans,  and  mystic 

1  For  the  nature  of  mythology,  see  Encyclopcedia  Britannica,  ad  he. 
Santayana,  chap.  iv. 


24  HISTORICAL 

plays  —  have  vanished  far  more  completely  than  the  temples 
and  statues  and  poetry  of  the  Olympians.1  But  they  were 
never  the  normal  and  universal  possession  of  the  people. 
They  were  mystic  brotherhoods,  spreading  by  conscious 
propaganda,  promising  a  deeper  and  more  spiritual  life, 
a  penetration  into  the  inner  secrets  of  being,  and  salvation 
after  death.  They  reveal  to  us  a  widespread  hunger  for 
a  more  personal  religion,  an  individual  communion  with 
God,  which  was  to  receive  its  eventual  satisfaction  in 
Christianity.  They  present  us  with  the  earliest  example  of 
a  religion  set  free  from  local  and  political  limitations,  and 
conceived,  at  least  in  germ,  as  a  universal  and  voluntary 
brotherhood  —  with  no  dogma,  indeed,  but  with  a  sense  of 
deepened  insight,  a  purified  will,  and  a  larger  hope.  These 
mystic  brotherhoods  did  not  antagonize  the  state  religion, 
but  supplemented  it  for  the  more  spiritual-minded,  and 
helped  to  pave  the  way  for  the  Christian  revolution.2 

(4)  Beginning  about  the  sixth  century  B.C.,  and  reaching 
its  culmination  in  the  fourth,  a  great  wave  of  philosophic 
interest  swept  over  the  cultured  classes  of  Hellas.  As  in 
the  case  of  the  earlier  refining  of  the  Olympian  religion,  the 
movement  seems  to  have  begun  with  the  Ionians,  the 
Greeks  who  had  crossed  the  ^Egean,  and  reached  its  climax 
in  Athens.  For  the  first  time  in  recorded  human  history  a 
truly  scientific  spirit  arose,  and  men  questioned  every  hith- 
erto accepted  belief.  Xenophanes  ridiculed  the  irration- 
ality of  the  popular  religious  conceptions,  and  pointed  out 
their  immoral  aspects.  Other  thinkers,  divesting  themselves 
of  their  preconceptions,  began  to  construct  original  pic- 
tures of  the  cosmos.    A  general  decline  of  naive  beliefs  en- 

1  It  is  true,  however,  that  some  of  them  survive  in  altered  form  in 
Christianity. 

2  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  arts.  Mystery,  Orpheus,  Mithras.  F.  Cumont, 
The  Mysteries  of  Mithra,  Oriental  Religions  in  Roman  Paganism.  Harrison, 
chaps,  ix-xii.  Monist,  vol.  11,  p.  87. 


GREEK   AND   ROMAN  RELIGION  25 

sued.  The  troops  of  anthropomorphic  gods,  with  the  rather 
childish  —  if  often  poetic  —  tales  that  clung  to  them,  began 
to  seem  absurd;  and  the  idea  of  a  unitary  purpose  in  things, 
a  reason  or  ideal  that  was  working  itself  out  in  the  world, 
was  suggested.  Already  Zeus  —  the  roof  of  sky  that  bends 
over  all  —  had  become,  in  the  popular  mythology,  the  father 
and  chief  of  the  gods;  and  the  name  came  to  be  often  used 
to  signify  the  One  Great  Power  behind  all  appearances.  A 
fragment  of  iEschylus  runs,  "  Zeus  is  the  ether,  Zeus  the 
earth,  Zeus  the  heaven,  Zeus  the  universe  and  whatever 
is  beyond  the  universe."  In  Plato's  Phcedo  we  can  glimpse 
the  crystallization  of  the  great  thought  that  the  universe 
forms  a  single  moral  order.  Platonists  and  Stoics  developed 
this  vaguely  monotheistic  or  pantheistic  doctrine,  with  its 
call  to  trust  in  the  outcome  of  events,  its  consolation  and 
hope,  far  greater  than  that  which  the  current  polytheism 
could  offer.  It  did  not  originate  in  the  right  way  to  catch 
the  heart  as  the  Christian  monotheism  did;  it  was  too  specu- 
lative, too  remote,  impersonal,  and  man-made,  to  become 
popular;  and  so  it  remained  the  philosophy  of  the  few 
rather  than  the  religion  of  the  many.  But  it  had  an  impor- 
tant part  in  making  monotheism  more  natural  and  thus 
paving  the  way  for  the  acceptance  of  Christianity.1 

(5)  The  philosophic  movement  of  Greece  gave  the  death- 
blow to  the  Olympian  religion,  but  did  not  replace  it  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people.  A  stern  Stoicism  brought  comfort  to 
many,  indeed;  and  an  Epicurean  skepticism  spread  among 
the  upper  classes.  But  the  masses  turned  rather  with  a  re- 
vulsion which  often  accompanies  an  age  of  enlightenment, 
toward  all  sorts  of  wild  superstitions.  Cults  of  Oriental 
origin  became  prominent,  with  their  extravagant  and  mor- 
bid conceptions.  Despair  at  the  failure  of  the  old  free  city- 
states,  a  loss  of  trust  in  reason  and  organized  effort,  —  in 
1  See  J.  Adam,  Religious  Teachers  of  Greece. 


26  HISTORICAL 

all  that  had  made  the  glory  of  Hellas,  now  overwhelmed  by 
political  catastrophes,  —  a  reaching-out  for  personal  salva- 
tion, for  ecstasies  and  spiritual  exaltations,  for  something 
new  to  cling  to,  something  greater  to  hope  for,  mark  the  final 
stage  of  Greek  religion.  Professor  Murray,  repeating  a  phrase 
of  Professor  Bury's,  calls  this  phase  a  "  loss  of  nerve." 
Through  it  the  new  star  of  Christianity  was  slowly  rising. 

What  is  the  permanent  significance  of  the  classic  Greek 
religion? 

Many  as  were  the  phases  of  religion  in  Greece,  it  is  the 
classic,  the  Olympian,  religion  that  has  left  the  deepest 
stamp  upon  civilization.  Never  so  profound  or  so  tender 
as  Christianity  or  Buddhism,  it  yet  has  a  lesson  and  charm 
for  us  in  the  sense  of  kinship  with  nature,  the  fearless,  buoy- 
ant attitude  toward  life,  the  self -forgetting  loyalty,  and  the 
spirit  of  moderation  and  freedom  from  excess  that  breathe 
through  its  mythology  and  are  witnessed  in  its  history. 
That  the  lovely  Greek  pantheon  is  an  elaboration  and 
blossoming-out  of  those  primitive  personifications  of  nature 
which  were  the  common  stock  of  the  Aryan  races  is  seen 
by  a  comparison  with  early  Sanskrit  literature.  In  the 
Vedas  we  meet  with  a  poetic  naturalism  similar  in  many 
respects  to  that  of  the  Greeks.  But  that  branch  of  the  Aryan 
race  that  migrated  to  the  plains  of  India  was  dragged 
down  by  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  its  religion  lost  its 
original  spontaneity  and  cheerfulness,  until  it  was  finally 
overshadowed  and  absorbed  by  a  religion  of  renunciation 
and  redemption.  The  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand,  favor- 
ably situated  in  a  smiling  land,  temperamentally  light- 
hearted  and  politically  free,1  developed   their  religion   on 

1  Free,  that  is,  from  alien  domination,  and  from  the  sort  of  crushing 
despotism  that  prevailed  so  largely  farther  east.  Of  course  they  were  con- 
stantly conquering  one  another;  but  there  was  a  large  element  of  free  politi- 
cal activity  down  to  the  Macedonian  conquest. 


GREEK  AND   ROMAN  RELIGION  27 

natural  and  wholesome  lines.  With  their  keen  and  sym- 
pathetic observation  of  nature,  their  exuberant  imagina- 
tion, and  their  healthy  love  of  living,  their  gods  came  to 
express  the  wondrousness  of  natural  phenomena,  and  the 
nobility  and  glory  of  free,  dignified,  loyal,  happy  human 
life.  Of  this  spirit  we  have  in  Greek  literature  and  art 
the  ripe  and  perfect  expression,  a  priceless  possession  to  all 
who  love  nature  in  her  many  aspects,  and  retain,  or  love,  the 
youthful  and  unsubdued  attitude  toward  life. 

(1)  Judaism  and  Christianity  set  little  importance  by 
nature;  their  emphasis  has  been  upon  inward  things;  they 
have  looked  back,  to  past  events,  and  forward,  to  future 
salvation,  but  very  slightly  at  the  immediate  natural  en- 
vironment. And  the  modern  man  is  apt  to  think  of  nature 
as  the  mere  material  for  his  labors,  obdurate  and  resistant 
to  his  will.  The  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand,  lived  consciously 
in  the  presence  of  natural  forces.  The  earth  was  to  them  a 
kindly  mother,  who  brought  forth  many  rich  and  beautiful 
gifts  for  men;  the  various  crises  in  her  life,  the  changing 
seasons,  the  growth  of  the  corn  and  the  vine,  awakened 
their  interest  and  gave  opportunity  for  many  a  festival  and 
rite.  There  was  Persephone,  carried  away  by  Pluto  to  the 
underworld  while  plucking  flowers  in  the  field,  but  permitted, 
because  of  the  sorrow  of  her  mother,  to  return  for  two  thirds 
of  each  year  to  the  bright  sunshine.  What  a  happy  allegory 
of  the  life  of  nature,  with  its  annual  death  and  its  assured 
reappearance  in  the  spring!  And  how  near  to  us  all  do  such 
allegories  bring  that  life,  of  which  our  own  is,  after  all,  but  a 
fragment  and  offshoot! 

So  to  the  Homeric  bards  the  dawn  was  a  rosy  maid  aris- 
ing from  the  couch  of  night,  the  winds  were  shepherds  of 
the  fleecy  clouds;  and  over  all  this  manifold  terrestrial  life, 
father  of  all,  was  the  open  sky  —  sublime  hoc  candens  quod 
invocant  onuies  Jovem.    To  hear  the  whispering  of  dryads 


28  HISTORICAL 

in  the  murmur  of  trees,  the  laughter  of  naiads  in  the  ripple 
of  brooks,  to  give  all  these  living,  moving  things  names  and 
think  of  them  as  akin  to  human  life,  to  tell  of  such  com- 
monplace phases  of  nature  in  these  poetic  and  romantic 
terms,  was  to  find  in  them  a  new  wonder  and  a  new  delight. 
This  intimate  communion  with  nature,  so  real  to  the  heart 
of  Hellas,  and  so  alien  to  our  modern  religion,  is  left  to  be 
the  perpetually  recurrent  theme  of  poets  and  artists,  the 
invaluable  bequest  of  a  singularly  gifted  and  imaginative 
people  to  our  rather  drab  and  utilitarian  age. 

(2)  But  it  is  not  merely  the  love  of  nature  and  of  outdoor 
adventure  that  we  find  in  the  Homeric  religion,  it  is  some- 
thing finer  and  nobler  that  most  endears  it  to  us;  it  is  the 
splendid  fearlessness,  the  manly,  undaunted  attitude  toward 
life  that  rings  through  it  —  that  spirit  that,  without  any 
belief  that  "  all  is  for  the  best,"  without  any  hopes  of 
heaven,  found  life,  when  nobly  lived,  full  of  zest  and  well 
worth  the  living.1  To  the  Greeks,  as  to  all  men,  pain  was 
pain,  sorrow  and  separation  and  death  were  real,  and  not 
to  be  mitigated  by  reflection.  But  they  did  not  let  them 
spoil  the  joys  which  they  found  or  the  ardor  with  which 
they  followed  their  ideals.2 

The  Homeric  religion  was,  on  the  whole,  light-hearted; 

1  This  is  not  true  of  all  the  Greek  poets.  Euripides,  e.g.,  is  a  good  deal 
of  a  pessimist. 

2  Cf .  William  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  87 :  "  The  Greeks 
and  Romans  [did  not  have]  any  such  desire  to  save  the  credit  of  the  universe 
as  to  make  them  insist,  as  so  many  of  us  insist,  that  what  immediately 
appears  as  evil  must  be  'good  in  the  making,'  or  something  equally  ingen- 
ious. Good  was  good,  and  bad  just  bad,  for  the  earlier  Greeks.  They  neither 
denied  the  ills  of  nature,  —  Walt  Whitman's  verse,  'What  is  called  good  is 
perfect  and  what  is  called  bad  is  just  as  perfect,'  would  have  been  mere 
silliness  to  them,  —  nor  did  they,  in  order  to  escape  from  those  ills,  invent 
'another  and  a  better  world'  of  the  imagination,  in  which,  along  with  the 
ills,  the  innocent  goods  of  sense  would  also  find  no  place.  This  integrity  of 
the  instinctive  reactions,  this  freedom  from  all  moral  sophistry  and  strain, 
gives  a  pathetic  dignity  to  ancient  pagan  feeling." 


GREEK  AND   ROMAN  RELIGION  29 

the  gods  were  generally  kindly,  except  when  specially  pro- 
voked, the  religious  festivals  occasions  of  gladness  and  feast- 
ing, dance  and  song  —  rather  strikingly  different  from  our 
drab  and  somber  Sabbaths.1  Chesterton,  who,  in  spite  of 
his  (rather  dubious)  orthodoxy,  is  more  pagan  than  Christian 
in  spirit,  would  infuse  gayety  into  our  holy  days.  But  what- 
ever we  may  say  to  that,  we  can  admire  the  spirit  immor- 
talized in  Odysseus  and  his  hardy  mariners  — 

"Souls .  . . 
That  ever  with  a  frolic  welcome  took 
The  thunder  and  the  sunshine,  and  opposed 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads." 

(3)  Another  marked  aspect  of  the  Olympian  religion  was 
its  sophrosyne,  its  freedom  from  excesses  of  superstition  or 
rite;  it  expressed  and  defended  the  enlightenment,  intelli- 
gence, reasonableness,  and  order  of  Hellas,  against  the 
dark  background  of  brutality  and  barbarism  that  ringed  it 
about.  There  was  in  it  a  dignity  and  restraint,  a  distrust  of 
brute  power  and  unbridled  passion,  expressed  in  the  motto 
Mtj&ep  ayav,  and  called  by  us  the  classic  spirit.  The  Hellenes 
waged  no  religious  wars,  never  spurned  the  gods  of  other 
peoples  and  trampled  upon  them  as  the  fanatical  Hebrews 
and  the  Christians  did.  They  sought  a  calm  and  sympa- 
thetic wisdom;  the  tales  that  grew  up  about  their  gods  min- 
gle with  their  poetic  interpretation  of  nature  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  Greek  ideal  of  manhood  and  womanhood — that 
ideal  of  ripe  physical  perfection  and  all-round  development 
which  the  Greek  statues  and  the  noblest  Greeks  themselves 
so  adequately  embodied. 

1  Of  course  there  is  another  side  to  the  picture.  Some  even  of  the  Ionian 
rites  and  ceremonies  were  gloomy.  Some  of  them  were  bloody  and  bar- 
barous, in  spite  of  what  I  say  in  the  following  paragraph.  In  short,  all  re- 
ligions were  more  alike  than  in  our  love  for  sharp  contrasts  we  are  apt  to 
suppose.  But  I  am  purposely  emphasizing  those  aspects  of  the  Olympian 
religion  that  constitute  its  differentia. 


30  HISTORICAL 

(4)  But  there  was  a  more  earnest  side  to  Greek  religion  — 
its  family  piety  and  civic  patriotism.  To  the  Athenian  the 
goddess  Athene  was  the  visible  symbol  of  his  beloved  and 
beautiful  city.  Euripides  makes  Theseus  cry  out  to  his 
men  when  the  Thebans  pressed  them  hard,  "  O  sons  of 
Athens!  if  ye  cannot  stay  this  stubborn  spear  of  the  men 
sprung  from  the  dragon's  teeth,  the  cause  of  Pallas  is  over- 
thrown." Loyalty  to  the  goddess  "  stood  for  the  ideal  of 
tempered  and  disciplined  courage  devoted  to  patriotic 
ends  ";  x  like  loyalty  to  the  flag  or  sovereign  to-day,  it  was 
a  symbolic  and  imaginative  way  of  expressing  the  important 
duty  of  patriotism,  which  drew  men  together,  gave  them 
something  great  and  self-transcending  to  live  for,  and  en- 
abled the  Greek  cities  to  attain  to  a  high  level  of  civiliza- 
tion. One  who  reads  the  biographies  of  Plutarch,  who  sees 
there  what  splendid  devotion  this  civic  religion  bred,  what 
glory  it  gave  to  life,  who  hears  of  the  Spartan  lads,  from  their 
childhood  living  for  the  larger  life  of  which  they  were  a 
part,  not  only  ready,  if  necessary,  to  die  for  their  country, 
but  undergoing  a  daily  discipline  and  self-denial  for  her, 
can  never  speak  of  this  highest  form  of  the  pagan  religion 
without  reverence  and  wistful  regret. 

The  habit  of  self-examination  and  a  vigorous  pursuit  of 
personal  righteousness  are  our  inalienable  inheritance  from 
Judaism;  the  spirit  of  love  and  compassion,  together  with 
much  more,  from  Christianity.  But  to  all  this  we  may  do 
well  to  add  that  natural  courage  and  buoyancy  of  heart 
that  we  find  among  the  Greeks,  and  that  seems,  together 
with  the  love  of  nature,  the  spirit  of  sbphrosyne,  and  the 
inculcation  of  patriotism,  to  be  somewhat  lacking  in  the 
Hebrew  and  Christian  Scriptures. 

Of  course  it  would  be  foolish  to  imagine  that  this  spirit 
1  Farnell,  Higher  Aspects,  pp.  80,  81. 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN  RELIGION  31 

possessed  all  of  those  early  Greeks,  as  it  would  be  to  suppose 
that  the  spirit  of  Christ  possesses  all  the  inhabitants  of 
Christendom.  But  as  there  is  a  certain  spirit  of  inward  as- 
piration, of  self -forgetting  love  and  compassion,  which  we 
call  the  Christian  spirit,  never  completely  realized  —  ex- 
cept in  the  Christ  of  Christian  belief  —  but  coming  to 
flower  here  and  there  in  some  saint,  and  found  in  a  degree  in 
many  an  obscure  and  humble  life,  so  the  spirit  which  we  find 
here  and  there  in  the  best  Greek  literature  and  biography, 
and  more  strikingly  and  prevalently  there  than  anywhere 
else,  may  fittingly  be  called  the  Greek  spirit.1 

What  were  the  main  currents  in  Roman  religion? 

(1)  The  old  Roman  religion  —  called  by  later  tradition, 
after  the  name  of  a  mythical  king,  the  Religion  of  Numa  — 
was,  like  the  temper  of  the  people,  less  exuberant  and 
imaginative,  more  serious  and  prosaic,  than  that  of  the 
Greeks.  At  first  scarcely  more  than  an  agricultural  reli- 
gion, concerned  with  the  safety  and  fertility  of  crops  and 
herds,  and  of  their  human  owners,  it  became,  perhaps 
through  Etruscan  influence,  a  strong  civic  religion,  con- 
solidating the  clanspeople  and  keeping  them  loyal  to  the 
little  state.  The  Romans  were,  like  the  Hellenes,  a  branch 
of  what  is  generally  called  the  Aryan  race;  like  them  they 
were  invaders,  pushing  themselves  into  a  country  already 
occupied.  But  their  religion  was  far  more  primitive  than 
that  of  their  cousins.  Their  gods  were  simply  the  natural 
Powers  about  them,  not  as  yet  clearly  anthropomorphic, 
and  so  with  no  mutual  relationships,  no  detachment  from  the 
physical  processes  themselves.    The  Romans  seem  to  have 

1  Or,  if  any  one  prefers,  the  Homeric  or  Olympian  spirit.  The  reader 
must  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  been  dwelling  upon  but  one  particular  phase 
of  the  enormously  varied  and  confused  religious  life  of  Greece  —  the  phase 
of  which  the  Homeric  poems  and  the  best  Greek  architecture  and  sculpture 
are  the  immortal  expression. 


82  HISTORICAL 

had  no  theological  or  metaphysical  curiosity;  they  were 
content  to  know  nothing  of  their  gods  but  their  visible 
activity.  Their  interest  was  rather  practical;  and  their  re- 
ligion consisted  of  a  great  mass  of  ancient  observances, 
deemed  necessary  to  keep  these  Powers  assuaged.  In  Pro- 
fessor Carter's  phrase,  it  was  a  "  science  of  propitiating 
the  right  Power  on  the  right  occasion  ";  and  the  priest  was 
the  expert,  the  "  legal  adviser  "  in  these  practices.1  We  miss 
the  picturesque  pantheon  of  the  Greeks,  the  poetry  and 
charm  and  intimate  friendliness  of  their  gods;  but  there 
is  a  devoutness,  an  "  earnest  sobriety,"  a  scrupulousness 
about  the  old  family  worship,  and  its  expanded  form,  the 
state  religion  of  adult  Rome,  that  help  explain  the  greatness 
to  which  Rome  attained.  The  most  prominent  of  the  early 
gods  were  Vesta  (the  hearth)  and  the  Lares  and  Penates 
(the  protectors  of  the  little  holdings,  of  the  house  and  its 
stores);  later  it  was  Jupiter  Optimus  Maximus,  like  the 
Jewish  Jehovah  a  sky-god  seen  in  storms  and  lightning,  and 
the  patron  of  the  growing  nation. 

This  nature-religion  remained  very  real  to  the  Romans 
during  the  period  of  their  waxing  power,  long  after  the 
Greeks  had  lapsed  into  skepticism  and  Oriental  excesses. 
Polybius,  writing  in  the  second  century  B.C.,  says,  "  The 
most  important  superiority  which  the  Roman  state  shows, 
it  seems  to  me,  lies  in  their  religious  faith;  for  I  take  it 
that  that  scrupulous  fear  of  the  gods  that  other  peoples 
are  being  rather  ashamed  of  is  just  what  holds  together  the 
Roman  state."  2   Ennius  sums  it  up  in  his  splendid  line  — 

"Moribus  antiquis  stat  res  Romana  ririsque." 

It  was  this  civic  religion  that  made  Rome  what  it  was, 
and,  decaying,  let  her  empire  also  decay.  From  the  legend- 
ary "pious  yEneas"   (pious,  in  that  his  reverence  for  the 

1  Religion  of  Numa,  p.  70.  2  vi,  56. 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN   RELIGION  33 

traditions  of  his  country  and  his  endeavor  to  perpetuate 
them  formed  the  dominating  purpose  of  his  life)  through 
the  long  roll  of  devoted  citizens  during  the  republic  and 
early  empire,  until  luxury  and  debauchery  sapped  their 
integrity  and  simplicity  of  heart,  the  religion  of  the  Romans 
was  a  thing  of  power  and  majesty,  a  religion  that  gave  a 
meaning,  an  inspiration,  and  a  joy  to  life.  It  is  easy  to 
point  out  its  failures  and  its  superstitious  side;  it  is  more 
profitable  to  consider  what  sort  of  men,  at  its  best,  it  bred. 

(2)  Rome,  however,  with  her  expanding  power,  became 
too  enlightened,  too  broadened,  too  sophisticated  to  retain 
her  simple  faith;  the  traders  from  Magna  Grsecia  intro- 
duced the  more  interesting  Greek  gods,  and  these  di  noven- 
sides,  "  newly  settled  gods,"  gradually  displaced  the  more 
shadowy  di  indigetes,  the  "  indigenous  gods."  Presently 
Greek  literature  and  art  and  mythology  poured  in  upon  the 
people  and  fascinated  them  with  their  brilliancy  and  beauty. 
So  far  as  possible  the  two  sets  of  gods  were  synthesized; 
some  superficial  resemblance  led  to  the  identification  of 
Athene  with  Minerva,  Artemis  with  Diana,  Hera  with 
Juno,  Ares  with  Mars,  and  so  on  x  —  the  result  being  a 
practical  displacement  of  the  native  cult  by  the  Hellenic, 
disguised  and  modified  by  the  retention  of  the  old  names 
and  many  of  the  old  rites. 

In  many  ways  this  Hellenization  of  Rome  was  of  extreme 
advantage  to  her;  but  it  made  inevitably  for  a  loss  of  the 
old  sobriety  and  depth  of  faith.  Greece  already  took  her 
religion  very  lightly;  and  the  spirit  of  skepticism  and  unrest 
spread  rapidly  in  Rome.  The  more  the  galaxy  of  temples 
grew,  the  greater  the  number  of  cults  introduced,  the  more 
elaborate  the  festivals  and  the  more  intoxicating  the  orgies 
of  the  semi-Oriental  cults,  the  less  religion  really  affected 

1  The  equation  of  Zeus  with  Jupiter  was  really  valid;  the  two  names  come 
from  the  same  root. 


34  HISTORICAL 

the  conduct  of  the  people.  The  old  religion  had  had,  indeed, 
its  repressive  and  cramping  aspect,  and  the  lightening  of 
its  yoke  was  not  altogether  an  evil.  Lucretius,  who  exulted 
in  the  decline  of  faith,  described  the  earlier  time  as  one 
in  which  "  human  life  lay  foully  crushed  to  earth  under  the 
weight  of  religion,"  and  declared  that  it  was  better  "  to  be 
able  to  look  at  all  things  with  a  mind  at  peace."  l  But  the 
waning  of  belief  meant  a  decline  of  piety  and  a  spread  of 
laxity  in  morals.  Virgil  tells  us,2  "Right  and  wrong  are 
confounded ;  so  many  wars  the  world  around,  so  many  forms 
of  wrong  ";  and  Horace  is  witness  to  a  state  of  cynical  pleas- 
ure-seeking far  removed  from  the  simple  and  virtuous,  if 
rude,  ancestral  tradition. 

Augustus  attempted  to  restore  the  old  state  religion  to 
something  of  its  older  and  purer  form;  but  he  could  not 
dislodge  the  Greek  and  Oriental  cults  or  inject  a  genuine 
faith  into  the  repetition  of  ancient  rites.  The  old  primitive 
nature-worship  had  lost  its  reality,  the  new  and  spectacular 
worships  had  no  deep  roots  in  the  people's  hearts.  As  times 
went  from  bad  to  worse,  the  confusion  grew  greater;  deli- 
rious orgies  of  sensuous  Eastern  cults,  the  Phrygian  Magna 
Mater,  Egyptian  Isis  and  Osiris,  and  the  noble  Persian 
Mithras,  sought  to  satisfy  that  heart-hunger,  that  growing 
sense  of  sin  and  craving  for  salvation,  which  were  to  find  their 
eventual  satisfaction  only  in  Christianity  —  Christianity, 
which  would  have  made  no  appeal  to  the  West  in  the  old 
days,  but  was  admirably  fitted  to  meet  the  needs  of  the 
confused,  wicked,  and  weary  world  of  the  Empire. 

G.  Murray,  Four  Stages  of  Greek  Religion.  A.  Fairbanks,  Hand- 
book of  Greek  Religion.  L.  R.  Farnell,  Cults  of  the  Greek  States ; 
Higher  Aspects  of  the  Greek  Religion.  G.  F.  Moore,  History  of 
Religions,  chaps,  xvn-xx.  A.  Menzies,  History  of  Religion, 
chaps,  xiv,  xvi.    S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap,  in,  sec.  I.     P.  V-  N. 

1  De  Rcrum  Natura,  i,  62;  v,  1194.  2  Georgics,  i,  505-6. 


GREEK  AND  ROMAN  RELIGION  35 

Myers,  History  as  Past  Ethics,  chaps,  x-xi.  G.  Santayana,  Poetry 
and  Religion,  chap,  in;  also  in  New  World,  vol.  8,  p.  401.  L.  Camp- 
bell, Religion  in  Greek  Literature.  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Greek  View 
of  Life,  chap.  I.  J.  Adam,  Religious  Teachers  of  Greece.  W.  Pater, 
A  Study  of  Dionysus,  the  Myth  of  Demeter  and  Persephone  (in 
Greek  Studies).  J.  E.  Harrison,  Prolegomena  to  the  Study  of  Greek 
Religion;  Religion  of  Ancient  Greece. 

W.  W.  Fowler,  Religious  Experience  of  the  Roman  People.  J.  B. 
Carter,  Religion  of  Numa;  Religious  Life  of  Ancient  Rome,  chaps. 
i-iii.  A.  Menzies,  op.  cit.,  chap.  xvn.  G.  F.  Moore,  op.  cit., 
chaps,  xxi-xxii.  Reinach,  op.  cit.,  chap,  in,  sec.  n.  T.  H.  Glover, 
Conflict  of  Religions  in  the  Early  Roman  Empire,  chap.  i.  W.  Pater, 
Marius  the  Epicurean.    G.  Hodges,  The  Early  Church,  chap.  i. 


CHAPTER  III 

BUDDHISM   AND   ZOROASTRIANISM 

What  was  the  soil  from  which  Buddhism  grew? 

Very  different  from  the  free  and  hearty  life  of  the  Greeks 
was  the  existence  of  the  natives  of  India.  A  crowded  popu- 
lation, a  burning  sun,  fever  and  pestilence,  wild  beasts  and 
poisonous  reptiles,  made  life  a  continual  struggle,  and  bred 
that  sense  of  world-weariness  that  makes  effort  seem  futile 
and  paralyzes  progress.  The  caste  system  kept  the  masses 
submerged;  the  luxury  of  the  few  jostled  against  the  pov- 
erty of  the  many,  from  whom  sorrow  and  pain  were  never 
far  away.  The  meaninglessness  and  burden  of  life  were  only 
intensified  by  the  widespread  belief  in  transmigration,  —  a 
reincarnation  of  souls  in  form  after  form,  with  no  aim,  no 
advance,  no  goal,  —  to  be  dreaded,  but  hardly  to  be  es- 
caped. A  pessimistic  view  of  life  and  a  longing  for  relief, 
rest,  salvation  from  sorrow  and  sin  are  the  background 
against  which  Buddhism  stands  with  its  welcome  message 
of  release  and  inner  peace. 

It  had  not  always  been  so  in  India.  The  early  Aryan 
invaders,  coming  down  from  the  Persian  highlands,  seem 
to  have  been  a  robust  and  normally  happy  folk,  whose  re- 
ligion consisted  largely  in  the  recitation  of  hymns  of  praise 
to  their  nature-gods.  Their  sacred  books,  the  Vedas,  con- 
tain these  hymns,  —  which  reveal  an  already  highly  devel- 
oped poetic   skill,1  —  together  with  legends,  speculations, 

1  The  date  of  the  earliest  of  the  Vedic  books  is  much  in  doubt.  But  con- 
servative scholars  surmise  that  it  may  be  around  2000  b.c.  See  Bloomfield, 
lect.  i. 


BUDDHISM  AND  ZOROASTRIANISM  37 

laws,  and  precepts.  The  gods  are  for  the  most  part  kindly 
disposed,  although  there  is  little  intimacy  with  them,  little 
of  that  intermingling  of  gods  and  men  that  we  find  on 
Hellenic  soil,  or  of  the  close  fatherly  love  that  characterizes 
the  Hebrew  Jehovah.  In  fact,  these  Aryan  nature-gods, 
who  in  Greece  were  so  thoroughly  humanized,  remain  in 
India  much  more  "  transparent,"  i.e.,  more  clearly  im- 
personations of  natural  forces;  so  that  the  process  by  which 
their  incipient  personalities  faded  out  into  the  engulfing 
Brahma,  the  Universal  Spirit,  the  One  Reality,  was  com- 
paratively easy.  "  Polytheism  is  decadent  even  in  the  hymns 
of  the  Rig- Veda  themselves.  It  shows  signs  of  going  to  seed 
for  philosophy."  l 

It  is  impossible  now  to  trace  the  process  by  which  the  gods 
lost  what  personality  they  had  and  were  merged  into  the 
Brahma,  or  Atman,  the  One  Cosmic  Breath,  Self,  Power, 
Being.2  The  process  doubtless  covered  many  hundreds  of 
years,  and  was  the  result  of  the  philosophic  spirit  at  work 
upon  the  naive  nature-worship,  a  realization  of  the  essential 
unity  of  Nature  beneath  her  manifold  and  often  discordant 
phases.  Again,  where  the  doctrine  of  transmigration  came 
from  we  cannot  say;  it  has  cropped  up  in  many  lands,  though 
it  has  nowhere  else  so  obsessed  a  people  as  in  India.  But, 
at  any  rate,  we  find  the  pantheism,  the  belief  in  transmigra- 
tion, and  the  pessimism  in  the  Upanishads  and  Brahmanas; 
they  seem  indelibly  stamped,  to  this  day,  upon  the  Hindu 
people.  To  escape  from  the  evils  of  life  has  been  their 
summum  bonum;  and  to  the  Brahman  this  escape,  this  sal- 
vation, can  come  only  through  the  realization  by  the  in- 
dividual of  his  essential  identity  with  the  One  Great  Being, 
the  World-Soul,   the  Divine  Life  that  contains  no  evil. 

1  Bloomfield,  p.  230. 

2  On  this,  consult,  besides  the  books  cited  at  the  end  of  the  chapter, 
J.  Wedgwood,  The  Moral  Ideal,  chap.  n. 


248591 


38  HISTORICAL 

All  else  than  this  life  is  Maya,  illusion,  mere  nothingness, 
and  cannot  matter.1  With  this  intuition  there  supervenes 
upon  the  soul  a  great  and  holy  calm  which  lifts  it  forever 
above  the  accidents  of  life.  Fastings  and  observances,  self- 
mortification,  and  a  sort  of  auto-hypnosis  lead  to  the  goal, 
which  is  a  killing-off  of  the  life  of  impulse,  passion,  and  de- 
sire, a  submergence  of  self  in  the  Infinite. 

What  was  the  nature  of  Buddha's  mission? 

Against  such  a  background  stands  the  life  of  Gautama, 
the  Buddha.  Born  a  prince,  in  the  eastern  valley  of  the 
Ganges,  surrounded  by  luxury  and  wealth,  with  health  and 
power  at  his  command,  he  early  recognized  the  futility  of 
these  material  things  for  lasting  satisfaction.  When  he 
awoke  to  realize  the  miseries  of  the  poor  and  the  weak, 
his  heart  yearned  toward  them,  and  he  felt  that  neither 
rich  nor  poor  had  learned  how  rightly  to  live.  At  the  age 
of  twenty-nine  he  renounced  his  position  and  adopted  — 
like  St.  Francis,  centuries  after  him,  and  like  Tolstoy  in 
our  own  times  —  the  life  of  poverty,  which  is  the  life  of  the 
people.  Thus  he  set  forth  on  his  long  quest  for  a  way  of 
relief  for  himself  and  his  people;  and  seeking  for  years,  with 
pure  heart  and  passionate  longing,  he  finally  came  to  see 
that  only  in  renunciation,  in  the  abandonment  of  personal 
desires,  in  inward  purity  and  loving  service,  could  that 
relief  be  found.  He  gathered  about  him  a  group  of  mendi- 
cant disciples  and  went  about  teaching  his  great  Secret 
until  his  peaceful  death  at  an  advanced  age  —  some  time 
in  the  earlier  part  of  the  fifth  century  B.C.  The  way  of  life 
that  he  taught  has  been  the  religion  of  more  men  and 
women  than  any  other  faith  of  historic  times. 

Jt  was  in  the  simplicity  and  spirituality  of  his  message 

1  This  is  precisely  the  note  of  Christian  Science,  and  of  the  modern 
Transcendental  philosophy,  which  borrowed  from  Hinduism. 


BUDDHISM  AND  ZOROASTRIANISM  39 

that  its  power  lay.  He  was,  like  Christ,  no  reformer  of  out- 
ward conditions;  he  became  early  convinced  that  salvation 
lay  not  in  any  abundance  of  material  goods.  But  the  ideals  of 
the  Brahmanic  priests  were  as  empty  as  the  worldly  aims  of 
the  nobles  and  princes;  not  in  fastings  or  bodily  asceticism, 
in  trances  and  ecstasies,  not  in  rites  or  ceremonies  or  prayers 
to  the  gods,  was  peace  to  be  found,  not  in  speculation  or  in 
dogma.  The  solution  of  life  was  rather  an  inward  change; 
the  Way  lay  open  to  all,  without  regard  to  learning,  to  pos- 
sessions, to  caste  or  race.  Brahmanism  was  at  once  too 
subtle,  too  philosophical,  and  too  formal,  too  exacting  in 
its  requirements.  Few  could  rise  to  the  realization  of  the  un- 
reality of  life  and  find  peace  in  mystic  union  with  Brahma; 
few  could  carry  out  the  elaborate  program  of  observances, 
or  find  lasting  satisfaction  therein.  When  Buddha  was  asked 
concerning  the  nature  of  the  self,  the  cosmos,  and  the  future 
life,  he  refused  to  answer;  "because  these  inquiries  have 
nothing  to  do  with  things  as  they  are,  with  the  realities  we 
know;  they  are  not  concerned  with  the  Law  of  Life;  they  do 
not  make  for  religious  conduct;  they  do  not  conduce  to  the 
absence  of  lust,  to  freedom  from  passion,  to  right  effort,  to 
the  higher  insight,  to  inward  peace."  1 

The  Buddha's  teaching  was  not,  indeed,  free  from  super- 
natural conceptions;  growing  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  Brah- 
manism, as  Christ  did  in  that  of  Judaism,  he  could  no  more 
than  Christ  fail  to  reflect  the  ideas  of  his  time.  But  they 
only  outwardly  affect  his  religion.  The  conception  of  trans- 
migration he  adopted  from  contemporary  belief;  it  was  to 
a  certain  extent  the  vehicle  of  his  teaching  (as  the  expecta- 
tion of  a  coming  Kingdom  of  God  was  the  vehicle  of  Christ's 
teaching),  but  was  not  really  essential  to  it.  Buddhism  is 
distinctly  and  explicitly  a  way  of  life,  a  way  to  salvation,  to 
emancipation  from  sin  and  sorrow  in  this  world,  and  is  jus- 
1  Quoted  by  J.  Estlia  Carpenter,  New  World,  vol.  1,  p.  90. 


40  HISTORICAL 

tified  by  its  results  without  consideration  of  a  future  exist- 
ence. Nor  did  that  expectation  of  reincarnation  add  the 
element  of  consolation;  the  future  life  was  not  thought  of 
as  a  sudden  transition  to  a  state  of  bliss;  and  unless  the 
weight  of  sorrow  could  be  removed  by  a  change  of  heart 
in  this  life  it  would  not  be  less  in  the  next.  The  Nirvana  that 
was  longed  for  and  looked  forward  to  was  the  extinction  of 
all  restlessness  and  selfish  desire,  the  perfect  self-surrender 
and  peace  —  an  ideal  perfectly  natural  to  this  life  and  in- 
hering in  its  needs.  So  this  strange  dread  of  reincarnation, 
which  is  implied  in  much  of  the  Buddha's  teaching,  did  not 
materially  influence  the  way  of  life  he  taught  or  add  to  the 
value  of  his  message. 

There  is  no  belief  in  Providence  in  Buddhism;  man  must 
work  out  his  own  salvation  in  a  world  of  law.  Buddha 
may  never  have  questioned  the  existence  of  gods;  but  he 
found  them  of  no  religious  importance.  He  taught  a  means  of 
deliverance  which  requires  no  belief  in  superhuman  Powers 
and  asks  no  help  of  them.  In  its  pure  and  unadulterated 
form,  Buddhism  is  one  of  the  least  superstitious  and  irra- 
tional of  human  religions.  It  teaches  that  salvation  and 
peace  are  inward  things,  that  the  soul  can  be  freed  from  the 
dominion  of  the  body's  ills,  that  happiness  is  to  be  found 
not  in  changing  outer  things  but  in  changing  ourselves. 

What  were  the  striking  aspects  of  Buddha's  teaching? 

(1)  Buddhism  is  not  a  virile  religion,  like  the  Greek  or 
the  Hebraic-Christian  religion;  there  is  a  shadow  over  it, 
a  sadness,  and  a  sense  of  the  vanity  of  worldly  desires. 
Hence  it  is  often  called  a  pessimistic  religion.  But  we  must 
remember  the  environment  into  which  it  came;  it  did  not 
bring  sadness  into  life,  it  found  it  there;  it  does  not  invent, 
it  acknowledges  it.  In  this  it  is  a  far  profounder  and  more 
adequate  religion  than  that  of  the  Greeks,  which  did  not 


BUDDHISM  AND  ZOROASTRIANISM  41 

grapple  with  sorrow  or  seriously  regard  it.  Buddhism,  like 
Christianity  some  centuries  later,  brought  a  message  to  the 
weary,  the  troubled,  the  sick  at  heart.  It  is  essentially  a 
religion  of  deliverance. 

(2)  The  solution,  the  salvation,  that  Buddhism  offers  is 

a  purely  subjective  one.  There  is  no  theodicy,  no  attempt 

to  explain  and  justify  the  existence  of  evil,  only  a  message  of 

how  to  escape  it.   The  cause  of  our  suffering  lies  in  the  fact 

that  our  hearts  are  set  upon  objective  things;  the  remedy 

lies  in  ceasing  to  care  about  them  and  learning  to  care  only 

about  what  lies  within  our  power,  our  own  attitude  of  heart 

and  will. 

"The  treasure  thus  laid  up  is  secure,  and  passes  not  away; 

Though  he  leave  the  fleeting  riches  of  this  world,  this  a  man  takes  with  him, 

A  treasure  that  no  wrong  of  others,  and  no  thief,  can  steal."  1 

The  close  parallelism  between  these  verses  and  the  fa- 
miliar saying  of  the  Gospels  will  be  noted  by  all  readers. 
Like  Christ,  five  hundred  years  after,  Buddha  called  men 
to  the  life  of  renunciation,  the  life  "  ungrasping  among  those 
who  grasp."  Like  Christ,  and  Paul  and  Luther,  he  swept 
away  outward  observances  and  demanded  an  inward  change 
of  heart  as  alone  essential. 

(3)  Buddhism  emphasizes  the  importance  of  each  mo- 
ment's act.  The  saying,  "Whatsoever  a  man  soweth,  that 
shall  he  also  reap,"  is  closely  paralleled  in  its  scriptures;  by 
an  inexorable  sequence  of  cause  and  effect  we  make  our 
own  future;  each  act  and  thought  moulds  us,  makes  us  what 
we  are  to  be,  decides  our  future.  In  particular,  it  is  forbidden 
to  take  life;  the  orthodox  Buddhist  will  kill  no  animal,  for 
food  or  in  self-defense.  It  is  forbidden  to  drink  intoxicating 
liquors;  Buddhism  has  been  a  bulwark  against  alcoholism. 
Sexual  offenses,  lying,  and  stealing  are  the  other  cardinal 
sins.     The   importance   of   watchfulness   over   our   faults, 

1  Quoted  by  Rhys-Davids,  Buddhism,  p.  127. 


42  HISTORICAL 

meditation  on  holy  matters,  and  continual  re-consecration 
is  never  to  be  forgotten. 

(4)  Duty  is  thus  sternly  emphasized.  But  equally  promi- 
nent is  the  teaching  of  compassion  and  love.  The  Buddha 
was  filled  with  tenderness  toward  all  living  things,  and  taught 
his  disciples  to  be  kind  to  animals,  hospitable  to  strangers, 
and  at  peace  with  one  another.  "Never  in  this  world,"  he 
said,  "does  hatred  cease  by  hatred;  hatred  ceases  by  love." 
And  Buddhists  have  kept  truer  to  this  teaching  than  Chris- 
tians have  to  the  similar  commands  of  Christ.  They  have 
not  persecuted  their  fellow  men,  established  inquisitions,  or 
set  forth  on  crusades.  In  Burma,  where  the  faith  has  been 
kept  purest,  it  has  bred  a  singularly  gentle  and  peaceable 
folk,  who  call  all  men  and  all  beasts  their  brothers,  who  give 
gladly,  because  it  is  sweet  to  give,  and  forgive  heartily,  be- 
cause it  is  best  to  forgive. 

"Let  us  live  happily,  then,  not  hating  those  who  hate  us! 
Let  us  live  free  from  hatred  among  men  who  hate. 

"Let  a  man  overcome  anger  by  kindness,  evil  by  good; 
Let  him  conquer  the  stingy  by  a  gift,  the  liar  by  truth."  1 

It  is  easy  to  point  out  defects  in  Buddhism.  It  has  not 
energized  its  converts,  being  rather  a  sedative  than  a  stim- 
ulant. It  has  not  sought  to  redeem  the  social  order,  content- 
ing itself  with  pointing  out  a  way  of  escape  from  a  hope- 
lessly evil  world.  It  is  lacking  in  the  Hebrew-Christian  (or 
Zoroastrian)  sense  of  the  cosmic  significance  of  morality, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  enlisting  in  a  divine  war  against  sin 
and  sorrow  which  is  bound  in  the  end  to  triumph.  It  taught, 
long  before  Christianity,  the  need  of  self-surrender  and  love; 
but  it  does  not  espouse  them  with  the  joyous  abandon  of 
the  true  Christian  saints.  Such  wisdom  of  unworldliness 
as  Buddha  —  and  as  Christ  too  —  taught  easily  paralyzes 
1  From  the  Dhamma-pada. 


BUDDHISM  AND  ZOROASTRIANISM  43 

activity;  and  Buddhism  did  not  have  the  good  fortune  to 
be  taken  up,  as  Christianity  was,  by  peoples  whose  native 
energy  should  balance  its  unworldly  teaching.  We  find  in 
Buddhism  a  renunciation  of  things  that  are  vital  and  im- 
portant in  life.  But  we  can  forgive  this  cramping  of  the 
spirit  when  we  see  what  a  priceless  comfort  and  blessing  it 
has  been  to  millions  of  its  adherents.  If  it  has  not  let  loose 
the  latent  energies  of  men  as  Christianity  has,  —  or  is  this 
because  the  Oriental  is  not  so  easily  aroused  to  energetic 
action?  —  it  is  at  least  free  from  many  of  the  faults  that 
have  marred  the  history  of  Christianity,  from  its  arid  and 
bitter  controversies,  and  its  militant  intolerance.  "Surely 
this  is  a  simple  faith  .  .  .  and  to  know  that  it  is  a  beautiful 
faith  you  have  but  to  look  at  its  believers  and  be  sure.  If  a 
people  be  contented  in  their  faith,  if  they  love  it  and  exalt 
it,  and  are  never  ashamed  of  it,  and  if  it  exalts  them  and 
makes  them  happy,  what  greater  testimony  can  you  have 
than  that  ?  "  l 

Christianity  and  Buddhism  are  at  heart  in  many  ways 
akin;  and  we  need  not  be  disloyal  Christians  to  reverence 
him  who  was  first  to  find  the  way  of  peace  for  man,  who 
first  taught  in  immortal  words  the  need  of  self-surrender 
and  of  charity,  and  whose  own  life  was  one  of  spotless 
purity,  dignity,  and  peace. 

What  was  the  subsequent  history  of  Buddhism? 

Buddha,  like  Christ,  left  no  written  teachings;  his  dis- 
ciples wrote  down  from  memory  what  they  could  recall, 
and  to  this  were  quickly  added  all  sorts  of  semi- legendary 
traditions.  A  sacred  literature  thus  arose,  and  a  scripture- 
canon  was  formed,  as  with  the  Christian  Testament  — 
varying  in  its  contents  in  the  different  countries  to  which 
Buddhism  spread.   The  Buddha  soon  became  a  supernatural 

»  H.  Fielding  Hall,  p.  50. 


44  HISTORICAL 

figure  who  had  come  to  earth  to  share  the  lot  of  men,  and 
with  whom  personal  communion  could  be  had.  As,  later, 
in  the  case  of  Christ,  legends  of  miraculous  birth  and 
many  wonders  grew  up  around  his  memory  and  were  de- 
voutly believed.  Indeed,  the  similarity  between  the  lives 
of  these  two,  the  world's  greatest  religious  teachers,  and 
between  the  beliefs  of  subsequent  ages  about  them,  is  in 
many  ways  striking.  Gautama  the  Buddha  (or  Enlightened) 
and  Jesus  the  Christ  (or  Anointed),  both  men  of  rarely  pure 
and  compassionate  nature,  both  inheriting  the  conceptions 
by  means  of  which  they  taught,  but  infusing  them  with  new 
inwardness  and  freeing  them  from  formalism  and  observance, 
both  holding  out  to  men  a  way  to  salvation  and  peace, 
found  that  Way  in  its  fundamental  aspects  identical.  The 
two  gospels,  so  much  alike  at  the  outset,  were  received  in 
very  different  soil  and  met  with  a  very  different  fate, 
Christ's  teaching  being  taken  up  by  the  Grseco-Roman 
world,  while  Buddha's  spread  among  the  gentler  but  more 
stagnant  Orientals;  so  that  the  existing  systems  which  go 
by  their  names  are  now  widely  different  from  each  other. 
But  the  original  teaching  of  both  transcended  these  limi- 
tations of  time  and  place;  both  were  in  essence  the  message 
of  a  better  way  of  life,  but  little  affected  by  speculation  and 
involving  allegiance  to  no  creed.  The  Way  of  both  teachers 
was  the  Way  of  love  and  purity  and  self -surrender.  Both 
teachers  inspired  great  personal  loyalty  and  soon  came  to 
be  thought  of  as  semi-divine,  as  coming  from  heaven  to 
save  men;  of  both  were  many  miracles  and  marvels  told, 
and  with  the  teaching  of  both  was  incorporated  a  mass  of 
contemporary  and  subsequent  speculation. 

As  in  the  case  of  Christianity,  councils  were  held  after 
Buddha's  death  to  determine  the  rules  and  doctrines  of  the 
new  order.  Schisms  arose;  but  the  Way  spread,  and  was 
adopted  about  250  B.C.  by  the  ruler  Asoka,  the  Constantine 


BUDDHISM  AND   ZOROASTRIANISM  4,5 

of  Buddhism.  For  a  while  intense  missionary  activity  pre- 
vailed, the  period  of  expansion  lasting  until  the  seventh 
century  a.d.  Then  Buddhism  was  almost  exterminated  in 
India  by  the  Mohammedan  invasion  and  the  renaissance  of 
the  older  Hindu  religion.  In  Ceylon,  in  Burma,  Siam,  and 
Tibet  it  is  still  the  dominant  faith;  while  in  China  and  Japan, 
where  the  masses  are  nominally  Buddhists,  it  has  been  more 
or  less  fused  with  the  native  religions.  It  is  now  again  on 
the  increase  in  India;  and  various  propagandist  movements 
have  recently  been  organized  there  and  in  Japan  —  among 
them  a  Young  Men's  Buddhist  Association,  modeled  after 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 

The  question  as  to  the  future  of  Buddhism  —  which  still 
probably  outnumbers  Christianity  —  is  of  great  interest. 
Professor  Rhys-Davids  declares  it  probable  that  Buddhism 
will  again  become  a  great  power  in  the  East.  If  so,  in  what 
form  —  the  later  supernaturalistic  or  the  primitive  simple 
gospel  —  it  would  be  hard  to  forecast.  How  much  vitality 
the  religion  has,  how  well  it  can  adapt  itself  to  the  truths 
of  modern  knowledge  and  absorb  the  contributions  of  other 
faiths  —  and  whether,  therefore,  it  will  permanently  share 
the  world  with  Christianity  and  whatever  other  religions 
stand  the  test  of  time  —  only  the  future  will  show.1 

What  was  the  essence  of  Zoroastrianism? 

A  few  words  must  suffice  for  one  other  great  Aryan  faith, 

before  we  turn  to  the  Semitic  religions.  Zoroastrianism  was  a 

reform  of  the  old  Persian  religion,  as  Buddhism  was  of  the 

Hindu  and  Christianity  of  the  Hebrew  religion.  The  ancient 

Persians  were  cousins  of  the  old  Aryan  Hindus,  and  their 

1  For  the  question  as  to  the  future  of  Buddhism,  see  Neic  World,  vol.1, 
p.  89.  For  discussions  of  contemporary  religious  tendencies  in  India,  see 
J.  N.  Farquhar,  Modern  Religious  Movements  in  India  ;  New  World,  vol.  1, 
p.  601;  vol.  9,  p.  451;  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  5,  p.  217;  vol. 
13,  p.  589. 


46  HISTORICAL 

gods  were  closely  similar  to  the  Vedic  gods.  But  instead  of 
becoming  enervated  and  depressed  like  the  dwellers  in  the 
hot  and  fever-swept  Ganges  valley,  they  remained  a  vigor- 
ous and  virile  people,  filled,  indeed,  with  a  sense  of  the  om- 
nipresence of  struggle,  but  of  a  struggle  that  was  glorious, 
challenging,  and  assured  of  ultimate  victory.  Zoroaster, 
who  lived,  apparently,  not  long  before  the  time  of  Buddha,1 
was,  like  him,  a  reformer  of  great  zeal  and  spirituality,  very 
practical  in  his  teachings,  although  more  speculative  in  his 
bent.  The  Bible  that  contains  his  teachings,  the  Avesta 
(commonly  called  Zend-Avesta),  is  rather  closely  similar  to 
the  Vedas  in  language  and  in  many  of  its  conceptions.  But 
an  entirely  different  stamp  has  been  put  upon  it,  an  entirely 
new  direction  given.2  The  old  pantheon  is  not  abolished, 
but  is  subordinated  to  two  central  figures,  Ahura-Mazda 
(Ormuzd)  and  Angro-Mainyu  (Ahriman),  the  Good  God 
and  the  Bad  God,  who,  with  their  subordinate  spirits,  have 
opposed  each  other  from  the  beginning  of  time,  and  are 
the  source,  respectively,  of  all  the  good  and  bad  in  the  world. 
In  Zoroastrianism,  then,  the  universal  polytheism  of 
primitive  religions  has  become  a  sharp  dualism;  the  sense  of 
vivid  contrast  and  of  struggle  permeates  its  thought  and 
practice.  Fertile  land  versus  desert,  light  versus  darkness, 
day  versus  night,  joy  versus  pain,  order  versus  chaos,  truth 
versus  error,  goodness  versus  sin,  life  versus  death  —  the 
universe  is  divided  between  the  two  great  Powers,  and  its 
history  is  the  history  of  their  age-long  struggle.   In  particu- 

1  His  date  remains  uncertain.  Indeed,  there  have  been  many  who  have 
deemed  him  a  wholly  mythical  figure.  But  the  tendency  nowadays  is  to 
accept  his  historicity  and  the  traditions  that  place  him  in  the  seventh  cen- 
tury B.C.,  or  a  little  earlier.  Cf.  Professor  G.  F.  Moore,  "No  serious 
student  any  longer  doubts  that  Zoroaster  was  an  historical  person." 

2  It  is  interesting  to  note  in  passing  that  the  good  god  Deva  of  the  Hindu 
religion  has  become  a  demon  in  Zoroastrianism.  One  suspects  that  to  be 
because  the  Deva-worshipers  rejected  Zoroastrianism. 


BUDDHISM  AND   ZOROASTRIANISM  47 

lar,  the  soul  of  man  is  the  scene  of  conflict.  By  every  pure 
thought  and  good  deed  he  forwards  the  cause  of  Ormuzd, 
by  every  weakness  and  sin  he  aids  the  powers  of  darkness. 
No  man  liveth  unto  himself  alone;  the  whole  cosmic  svstem 
of  which  he  is  a  fragment  gains  or  loses  with  his  moral 
victories  and  defeats  —  while  the  future  life  of  the  individual 
is  determined  by  his  guilt  or  merit  here.  The  final  decisive 
conflict  is  not  far  away,  wherein  Ahriman  and  all  his  cohorts 
will  be  routed,  after  which  the  reign  of  universal  righteous- 
ness and  peace  will  prevail. 

Thus,  instead  of  renunciation  and  peace,  Zoroaster  taught 
the  need  of  effort  and  reform;  the  evil  in  the  world  was  ta 
be  not  passively  endured,  but  actively  fought  and  banished; 
its  presence  was  due  not  merely  to  our  weakness  and  folly, 
but  to  an  Evil  Principle  which  we  must  all  join  in  opposing, 
until  it  is  finally  overcome  and  human  life  is  redeemed. 
There  was  rather  little  of  ceremony  in  the  religion,  no 
temples  or  statues  of  the  gods;  but  sacred  fires  were  kept 
burning  on  the  hilltops  in  honor  of  the  great  god  whose 
loyal  soldiers  men  must  be.  A  bit  of  this  sacred  fire  was 
carried  to  India  by  the  Parsees  who  fled  before  the  Moham- 
medan invasion,  which  in  Persia,  as  in  so  many  lands,  wiped 
out  the  indigenous  religion.  In  the  region  about  Bombay 
they  still  hold  to  a  faith  which  is  a  development  of  their 
ancestral  Iranian  cult.  But  in  Persia  itself  the  old  faith  is 
as  dead  as  are  the  Olympian  gods  of  Greece. 

M.  Bloomfield,  Religion  of  the  Veda.  A.  Barth,  Religions  of 
India.  E.  W.  Hopkins,  Religions  of  India.  P.  D.  C.  de  la  Saussaye, 
Manual  of  the  Science  of  Religion,  chaps,  lviii-lxxxiii.  G.  F. 
Moore,  History  of  Religions,  chaps,  xi-xiv.  A.  Menzies,  History  of 
Religion,  chaps,  xviu-xx.  T.  W.  Rhys-Davids,  Buddhism;  Bud- 
dhist India;  Dialogues  of  the  Buddha.  R.  S.  Copleston,  Buddhism. 
Primitive  and  Present.  P.  Carus,  Gospel  of  Buddha.  Sir  Edwin 
Arnold,  The  Light  of  Asia  (poem).  H.  E.  Warren,  Buddhism  in 
Translations.  M.  Mliller,  ed.,  Sacred  Books  of  the  East,  vol.  x. 


48  HISTORICAL 

H.  Hackmann,  Buddhism  as  a  Religion.  H.  F.  Hall,  The  Soul  oj 
a  People.  P.  V.  N.  Myers,  History  as  Past  Ethics,  chap.  vn.  M. 
Monier-Williams,  Brahmanism  and  Hinduism.  Hibbert  Journal, 
vol.  i,  p.  465.  Hastings'  Encyclopaedia,  Schaff-Herzog  Encyclopaedia, 
and  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  ad.  loc. 

A.  V.  W.  Jackson,  Zoroaster.  J.  H.  Moulton,  Early  Zoroastrianism. 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  and  Schaff-Herzog  Encyclopaedia,  ad.  loc. 
G.  F.  Moore,  op.  cit.,  chap.  xv.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap,  n, 
sec.  ii.  E.  Rindtorff,  Religion  des  Zarathushtra.  J.  Milne,  Faiths  of 
the  World,  pp.  91-121.  J.  Wedgwood,  The  Moral  Ideal,  chap.  ill. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  HEBREW  RELIGION 

We  must  now  turn  our  attention  to  that  dramatic  series 
of  events  that  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  Mediterranean 
coast  developed  a  religion  which  has  become  the  most  im- 
portant in  the  world's  history.  Christianity  is  a  develop- 
ment of  Judaism;  so,  indeed,  is  Mohammedanism.  All  three 
have  shown  extraordinary  vigor  and  vitality,  so  that  the 
Aryan  religions  have  steadily  fallen  away  before  the  Se- 
mitic. But  no  one  of  these  three  would  have  existed,  at 
least  in  its  actual  form,  but  for  the  peculiar  history  of  that 
handful  of  tribes  that  formed  the  small  but  patriotic  Jew- 
ish nation.1 

How  did  the  Hebrew  monotheism  arise? 

In  the  earliest  days  of  the  Jewish  people  that  extant 
documents  allow  us  to  reproduce  with  any  assurance,2  we 
find  them  a  loose  aggregation  of  nomadic  tribes,  closely 

1  For  Hebrew  history  see  C.  P.  Kent,  History  of  the  Hebrew  People; 
History  of  the  Jewish  People.  C.  H.  Cornill,  History  of  the  People  of  Israel. 
H.  P.  Smith,  Old  Testament  History.   Encyclopaedia  Britannica. 

2  See  H.  T.  Fowler's  History  of  the  Literature  of  Ancient  Israel.  Our 
main  source  is,  of  course,  the  Old  Testament  itself.  See  S.  R.  Driver's  or 
C.  H.  Cornill's  or  J.  E.  MacFadyen's  Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament.  The 
best  editions  of  the  Bible  for  historical  study  are:  C.  F.  Kent's  Students' 
Old  Testament  (the  most  accurate  and  up-to-date  translation  into  English 
yet  available,  the  books  arranged  partly  in  chronological  and  partly  in 
topical  order,  introductions  and  textual  footnotes,  in  six  large  volumes) ; 
P.  Haupt,  ed.,  Polychrome  Bible  (a  new  and  admirable  English  version,  with 
excellent  explanatory  notes;  the  different  documents  distinguished  by  dif- 
ferently colored  backgrounds  on  the  pages.  Unfortunately  publication  has 
been  stopped  for  financial  reasons,  with  only  a  few  volumes  available); 


50  HISTORICAL 

akin  in  manners  and  religion  to  the  less  civilized  of  their 
Semitic  cousins.  In  or  about  the  thirteenth  century  B.C. 
they  fought  their  way  into  the  land  of  Canaan  and  merged 
with  the  earlier  inhabitants,  who  were  also  a  Semitic  people, 
far  more  advanced  in  civilization  and  far  less  austere  in 
their  morals  and  religion.  The  Hebrew  nation  that  emerged 
was  thus  of  a  mixed  race,  heir  to  the  peaceful  arts  of  the 
agricultural  and  city-dwelling  Canaanites,  but  stamped  with 
the  purer  and  more  ascetic  ideals  of  desert  life.  An  alert 
and  ambitious  people  they  were,  with  intense  racial  pride; 
a  small  nation,  indeed,  politically  insignificant,  and  never 
very  broad  in  their  interests,  but  possessed  with  a  belief 
in  their  own  destiny.  Their  aspirations,  at  first  largely 
political  and  worldly,  became  chastened  by  the  rough 
handling  of  their  stronger  neighbors  until  they  came  to  em- 
body, in  their  noblest  representatives,  an  enthusiasm  for 
spiritual  perfection  and  a  regenerated  moral  order  on  earth 
—  the  future  Kingdom  of  God. 

The  early  Jews  were  as  polytheistic  as  their  neighbors;  1 

The  New  Century  Bible  (Frowde,  New  York);  a  series  of  small  duodecimo 
volumes,  using  the  R.V.  text,  with  excellent  introductions  and  explanatory 
footnotes:  the  best  complete  edition  for  students,  in  spite  of  the  inferiority 
of  the  R.V.  text  to  the  more  recent  translations);  The  Bible  for  Home  a7id 
School  (The  Macmillan  Company.  A  similar  edition,  of  about  equal  ex- 
cellence, as  yet  only  partially  published  —  fourteen  Bible  books  at  date 
of  writing,  19U;  R.V.  text);  R.  S.  Moulton,  ed.,  The  Modern  Reader's 
Bible  (R.V.  text;  the  books  somewhat  rearranged,  and  their  material 
printed  in  modern  literary  form,  without  the  confusing  conventional  di- 
vision into  chapters  and  verses.  The  one-volume  edition,  which  is  handiest, 
has  the  chapter-  and  verse-numbers  in  the  margin.  Literary  introductions 
and  notes.  Excellent  for  the  general  reader;  perhaps  the  most  palatable 
form;  but  not  adapted  for  historical  study.  The  arrangement  is  rather 
arbitrary  and  not  always  based  on  solid  critical  grounds). 

Of  the  texts  in  common  use,  the  R.V.  (English  Revised  Version  of  1881) 
is  far  more  accurate  than  the  A.V.  ("Authorized"  Version  of  1611);  the 
S.V.  (American  Standard  Version  of  1901),  still  more  accurate;  the  S.V.  is 
gradually  supplanting  the  others.  It  retains  the  Elizabethan  English  as 
far  as  possible. 

1  Their  very  name  for  God  —  Elohim  —  was  originally  a  plural. 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  51 

it  was  only  gradually  that  their  particular  tribal  patron 
Jehovah  1  overshadowed  the  others  and  became  their  One 
God.  Many  Biblical  passages  refer  to  the  worship  of  other 
gods  before,  and  indeed  long  after,  the  introduction  of  Je- 
hovah-worship —  for  Moses'  attempt,  similar  to  that  of 
Mohammed,  eighteen  centuries  or  more  afterward,  to  sim- 
plify his  people's  religion  into  a  monolatry,  was  much  less 
successful;  although  continued  by  the  great  prophets,  it  was 
not  finally  triumphant  until  after  the  political  ruin  of  the 
nation.  In  the  oldest  of  the  Biblical  decalogues,  which  no 
doubt  most  nearly  represents  the  laws  of  Moses,  the  com- 
mandment is  clear,  "Thou  shalt  worship  [henceforth]  no 
other  god;  for  Jehovah,  whose  name  is  Jealous,  is  a  jealous 
god."  2  And  in  the  older  strata  of  the  composite  Biblical 
history  we  find  signs  of  the  preeminence  given  to  Jehovah 
in  the  early  post-Mosaic  days  —  as  in  the  ancient  song 
preserved  to  us  in  Exod.  15:2-21,  wherein  we  read:  — 

"  I  will  sing  unto  Jehovah,  for  he  hath  triumphed  gloriously,  .  .  . 
He  is  our  God,  and  we  will  praise  him,  .  .  . 
Jehovah  is  a  warrior,  Jehovah  is  his  name,  .  .  . 
Who  is  like  unto  thee,  Jehovah,  among  the  gods?  " 

But  all  through  the  days  of  the  Hebrew  state  we  read  of 
the  worship  of  many  other  gods  proceeding  side  by  side  with 

1  The  name  was  almost  certainly  "Jahveh"  (pronounced  Yahway), 
"Jehovah"  resulting  from  a  mistaken  insertion  of  the  vowels  of  the  word 
"  Adonai"  into  the  JHVH  which  the  old  vowel-less  Hebrew  texts  contained. 
But  I  retain  here  the  familiar,  if  inaccurate,  form  "Jehovah."  The  render- 
ing "the  Lord,"  in  the  older  English  Bibles,  has  no  justification.  The  JewTs, 
being  forbidden  to  pronounce  the  name  of  their  God,  substituted  this  word 
"Adonai"  for  it  when  reading  aloud  in  the  synagogue  service.  The  vowels 
of  this  word  were  written  in,  to  remind  the  reader  to  use  it.  The  transla- 
tors of  the  Greek  version  (LXX)  used  the  word  Kipios,  the  equivalent  of 
Adonai;  and  the  English  translators  rendered  it  Lord. 

2  Exod.  34  :  14.  The  narrative  which  contains  this  decalogue  (one  of  the 
J  passages)  was  written  about  the  ninth  century  B.C.,  i.e.,  about  four  hun- 
dred years  after  the  time  of  Moses.  But  the  decalogue,  in  approximately 
the  same  words,  may  date  from  Moses.  The  later  decalogues  —  e.g.,  the 
familiar  one  in  Exod.  20  —  repeat  the  same  commandment. 


52  HISTORICAL 

that  of  Jehovah.  Joshua,  we  are  told,  begged  his  people, 
in  an  eloquent  speech,  to  renounce  their  other  gods,  making 
the  plea,  so  often  used  in  later  times,  that  it  was  Jehovah  — 
Moses'  God  —  who  had  led  them  out  of  the  bondage  in 
Egypt  —  an  episode  in  their  early  tribal  life  which  later 
generations  continued  to  look  back  upon  with  a  peculiar 
horror.  "Now  therefore  put  away,  said  he,  the  strange  gods 
which  are  among  you,  and  incline  your  hearts  unto  Je- 
hovah." 1  But  in  spite  of  the  repeated  denunciations  of  the 
Jehovah-enthusiasts,  monotheism,  so  meager,  so  alien  to 
the  universal  practice  of  antiquity,  made  slow  headway; 
even  as  late  as  Ezekiel  we  find  the  complaint  that  the  people 
still  serve  other  gods,  —  "  Ye  pollute  yourselves  with  all 
your  idols  even  unto  this  day,"  —  and  the  final  exasperated 
cry,  "As  for  you,  O  house  of  Israel,  thus  saith  Jehovah: 
Go  ye,  serve  ye  every  one  his  idols,  and  hereafter  also,  if 
ye  will  not  hearken  unto  me;  but  pollute  ye  my  holy  name 
no  more  with  your  gifts."  2  Among  these  early  gods  were 
the  Teraphim,  images  of  ancestors  (the  Manes  of  the  Ro- 
mans); and  this  ancestor- worship  survived  long  after  the 
settlement  in  Canaan.3  Animals  were  worshiped  also  —  the 
calf  (or  bull),  the  serpent,4  and  the  local  Baals,  or  agricul- 
tural gods  of  the  Canaanites.  The  Old  Testament  books, 
compiled  late  in  Jewish  history,  tend  to  hush  up  this  ear- 
lier polytheism;  but  the  actual  situation  is  easy  to  read 
between  the  lines. 

As  for  Jehovah,  he  was,  it  seems,  originally  a  storm-god 
of  Mount  Sinai.  The  etymology  of  the  name  is  obscure;  but 
a  conjecture  as  good  as  any  is  that  it  meant  "  he  who  fells  " 
—  referring  to  the  thunderbolts,  which,  as  in  the  case  of 

1  Joshua  24.  Cf.  also  Gen.  35  :  2,  4. 

2  Ezek.  20.    Cf.  also  chap.  23. 

3  Cf.  Gen.  31:19,30-35.  Deut.  26:14.  Judges  18:20.  1.  Sam.  19:13, 
16.  Hos.  3:4.    Jer.  16:7. 

4  Cf.  Exod.  32:  4.  1  Kings  12:  28.  2  Kings  18:  4. 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  53 

Zeus  and  Jupiter,  were  his  weapons.  Various  Biblical  allu- 
sions show  us  that  his  home  was  long  thought  to  be  in  the 
South;  x  and  many  passages  connect  him  with  clouds  and 
thunder  and  rain.2  He  was,  apparently,  the  god  of  the 
Midianites,  among  whom  Moses  had  lived  before  he  as- 
sumed the  leadership  of  his  people.  There,  according  to 
tradition,  Moses  found  him  worshiped;  there,  after  the 
flight  from  Egypt,  he  bound  the  people  to  him  by  a  solemn 
covenant,  at  the  foot  of  the  sacred  mountain,  Sinai,  where 
he  dwelt;  3  and  there  he  instructed  them,  following  the 
counsel  of  his  Midianite  father-in-law,  in  "  the  statutes  of 
Jehovah,  and  his  laws."  4  On  one  occasion,  at  least,  his 
Midianite  wife  knew  better  than  he  what  Jehovah  required.5 
From  this  testimony,  and  because  of  other  indications,6 
there  is  strong  reason  for  believing  the  tradition  of  two 
of  the  three  Biblical  documents  7  when  they  tell  us  that 
Jehovah  was  introduced  to  the  Hebrews  by  Moses. 

At  any  rate,  whatever  historical  value  there  may  be  in 
these  accounts,  and  whether  or  not  the  Jews  adopted  the 
worship  of  Jehovah  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  Mount 
Sinai  region,  they  early  came  to  look  upon  him  as  their 
especial  god,  their  patron  and  protector  against  the  tribes 

1  Cf.  Hab.  3:  3-7.  Judges  5:  4-5.   1  Kings  19:  8/.   Deut.  3:  2. 

2  Cf.  Ps.  29:  3-7;  18:  7-14;  68:  7-9,  33-35. 

3  Cf.  Exod.  3  and  19.  Jehovah  speaks  to  Moses  "out  of  the  mountain." 
*  Exod.  18:  16.  5  Exod.  4:  24-26. 

6  Among  other  indications  are  these:  The  name  Jehovah  is  not  found  in 
compounds  before  the  time  of  Moses;  the  earliest  prophets  do  not  refer 
to  the  dealings  of  Jehovah  with  the  pre-Mosaic  patriarchs;  the  Midianites 
were  long  friends  of  Israel  —  Jael  was  one;  and  the  fact  suggested  by  the 
Cain  story,  that  the  Kenites  (=  Midianites)  bore  the  mark  (tattoo)  of 
Jehovah  (their  ancestral  god)  upon  them. 

7  E  and  P  (cf.,  e.g.,  Exod.  3:  15;  6:  2).  The  J  document,  has  Jeho- 
vah worshiped  by  the  Hebrews  from  the  beginning.  But  in  view  of  the 
strong  convergence  of  evidence  to  the  contrary,  we  must  reject  this  tradi- 
tion in  favor  of  that  held  in  common  by  E  and  P.  Besides,  it  is  easy  to 
see  how  the  J  tradition  would  arise,  and  much  harder  to  conceive  the 
emergence  of  the  E  and  P  tradition  if  J  were  right. 


64  HISTORICAL 

with  whom  they  were  at  war.  He  was  still  but  one  of  many 
gods  whom  they  also  honored,  but  through  the  supremacy  of 
those  who  particularly  worshiped  him,  he  came  to  be  the 
chief  god ;  and,  as  always,  among  barbarous  peoples  in  a  pre- 
carious situation,  the  chief  bond  of  union  between  the  various 
Jewish  tribes.  We  read  that  he  had  his  especial  habitation 
in  a  sort  of  wooden  chest  called  the  Ark,  carried  by  his 
people  with  great  pomp  and  ceremony,  that  he  might  fight 
for  them  and  give  them  his  protection  and  favor. 

Had  all  gone  smoothly  in  Jewish  history,  the  Jews  might 
have  remained  as  polytheistic  as  their  contemporaries. 
They  were  not,  indeed,  nature-lovers,  not  imaginative  or 
sympathetic,  and  would  never  have  created  a  poetic  myth- 
ology; they  were  intensely  serious  and  practical  by  tempera- 
ment, and  the  only  gods  for  which  they  had  much  use  were 
those  that  they  invoked  to  help  them  in  battle.  But  they 
frequently  lost  in  battle,  and  had  all  they  could  do  to  main- 
tain their  existence.  Many  were,  no  doubt,  the  appeals 
from  this  or  that  band  to  invoke  more  zealously  this  or  that 
god;  but  the  Jehovah  worshipers  carried  the  day.  There 
arose  a  sect  that  insisted  that  Jehovah  alone  could  save 
them.  They  pointed  to  the  escape  from  Egyptian  bondage, 
under  Moses,  who  worshiped  Jehovah;  and  all  the  victories 
since  that  time  they  referred  to  Jehovah's  help,  their  defeats 
to  their  defection  from  him  to  other  gods  and  his  consequent 
anger.  Jehovah  was  most  powerful;  by  loyalty  to  him  alone 
could  they  be  successful.1  Instead  of  treating  the  other  gods 
with  the  usual  tolerance  and  good-fellowship,  the  Jehovists 
demanded  the  exclusive  worship  of  their  god;  Jehovah  was 
a  jealous  god,  and  would  have  no  other  gods  beside  him. 
Joining  stern  moral  requirements  with  this  demand,  they 
gave  to  this  Jehovah-worship  the  prestige  of  moral  supe- 

1  Cf.,  e.g.,  Deut.  1:  30;  4:3-4;  5:  6-9;  6: 14-15.  Ps.  44:5-7.  1  Kings 
16:  30-33;  18: 17-21.  Hos.  11 : 1-7. 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  66 

riority.  Gradually  the  other  cults  were  assimilated  or  stamped 
out;  by  the  reform  of  Josiah  (ca.  621  B.C.)  Jehovah-worship 
became  the  only  legal  religion.1 

As  time  went  on,  and  Egyptians  and  Assyrians  threatened 
the  integrity  of  their  little  kingdom,  priests  and  prophets 
preached  more  and  more  vehemently  the  need  of  devotion  to 
Jehovah  and  to  his  commandments.  Finally,  as  the  hope  of 
safety  became  dimmer  and  despair  began  to  enter  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  a  conviction  came  to  certain  of  the  prophets 
that  their  danger  lay  not  in  the  weakness  of  their  god  before 
the  stronger  gods  of  rival  nations,  but  in  his  wrath  at  his 
own  people  for  their  disobedience.  Unless  repentance  were  in- 
stant, they  proclaimed,  he  might  use  these  nations  for  their 
chastisement;  for  he  was  a  stern  god  and  required  loyalty 
to  his  laws.  Never  was  the  necessity  of  justice  and  purity 
preached  more  passionately  than  by  these  patriotic  and 
earnest  prophets  of  Israel,  who  trusted  in  Jehovah  to  save 
them  from  their  enemies,  but  felt  that  he  required  of  them 
clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart. 

Jehovah  did  not  save  them.  But  so  dominant  had  this 
conviction  of  the  prophets  become  that  when  finally  the 
Jews  were  conquered  and  their  leading  men  carried  into 
exile,  a  strong  party  held  to  the  belief  that  he  had  not  been 
overcome,  but  had  punished  them  for  their  sins.  This  belief 
grew  during  the  Exile.  A  purified  remnant  of  Jehovah's 
people,  purged  of  their  sins,  were  to  return  and  finally  es- 
tablish a  kingdom  based  on  that  pure  and  moral  worship 
which  he  demanded.  So,  at  the  actual  return  of  the  pious 
minority  to  Palestine,  the  Jehovah-worshipers  were  more 
completely  in  power  than  ever,  and  their  insistence  on 
morality  more  scrupulous. 

Through  this  thought,  that  Jehovah  had  used  other  na- 

1  The  book  of  Deuteronomy,  written  in  all  probability  shortly  before 
this  date,  was  the  official  code  legalized  at  that  time. 


56  HISTORICAL 

tions  for  his  purpose  of  punishing  the  Jews,  came  the  con- 
viction that  he  was  not  merely  one  of  many  gods,  but  the 
One  Universal  God;  other  gods  were  declared  not  only  un- 
worthy of  their  allegiance,  but  actually  unreal  and  non- 
existent. As  the  Jews  grew  from  a  collection  of  tribes  to  a 
flourishing  kingdom,  Jehovah  was  more  and  more  invested 
with  royal  attributes;  by  the  unknown  prophet  of  the 
Exile  (Is.  40-66)  he  was  extolled  as  creator  and  ruler  of 
the  earth.  Still  more  important,  as  attention  was  concen- 
trated more  and  more  on  moral  ideals,  the  conception  of 
Jehovah  became  ennobled  until  he  grew  from  just  such  a 
capricious,  and  at  times  bloodthirsty,  tyrant  as  most  con- 
temporary deities  were,  to  that  just  and  merciful  God  that 
Christianity  a  little  later  proclaimed  to  the  world. 

What  are  the  striking  features  of  the  religion  of  the  prophets 
and  psalmists? 

Wherein  was  this  Hebrew  religion,  at  its  best,  superior 
to  its  contemporaries?  Why  was  the  Jehovah-cult  of  the 
Jews  better  than,  say,  the  Moabite  Chemosh-cult?  Simply 
because  it  was  more  moral,  more  spiritual.  Jehovah,  at  first 
principally  useful  in  their  eyes  as  a  god  of  battles,1  came 
to  be  the  embodiment  of  their  conscience.  'Thus  saith 
Jehovah,"  said  the  prophets,  regarding  their  moral  intuitions 
as  his  commands,  and  so  as  august  and  binding.  The  de- 
mand for  exclusive  allegiance  to  Jehovah  meant  practically 
a  single-minded,  whole-hearted  devotion  to  righteousness. 
Even  the  cut-and-dried  formalism  of  the  post-exilic  religion, 
that  seems  to  us,  as  indeed  it  largely  was,  very  petty  and 
devitalized,  meant  to  the  devout  a  daily,  unquestioning, 
faithful  following  of  the  Divine  will.     The  Old  Testament 

1  Cf.  such  passages  as:  "Through  thee  will  wo  push  down  our  enemies; 
through  thy  name  will  we  tread  them  under  that  rise  up  against  us.  .  .  . 
Thou  hast  saved  us  from  our  enemies,  and  hast  put  them  to  shame  that 
hated  us"  (Ps.  44:5-7). 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  57 

pictures  vividly  the  increasing  moralization  of  the  Jewish 
religion.  The  prophets  —  who  in  early  times  were  dervishes 
similar  to  those  of  many  Semitic  peoples,  and  notably  of 
the  later  Mohammedans  —  became  in  Israel  preachers  of 
righteousness,  a  group  of  unsurpassed  moral  teachers,  who, 
instead  of  abandoning  the  popular  religion,  as  the  Greek 
seers  did,  incorporated  their  new  ideals  into  it,  developed 
and  ennobled  it  with  their  insight,  and  thus  remain,  next  to 
Jesus,  the  chief  religious  inspiration  of  the  Western  world. 

The  Jews,  of  all  early  peoples,  cared  the  most  for  right 
conduct;  their  Scriptures,  taken  over  by  Christianity,  are 
infused  with  this  passionate  interest.  It  is  to  this,  above  all 
other  influences,  that  we  of  the  modern  world  owe  that  in- 
grained hatred  of  sin,  so  foreign  to  the  pagan  world,  which 
has  helped  the  readers  of  the  Bible  through  all  these  centuries 
to  conquer  their  passions  and  rise  above  a  brutish  life.  Other 
religions  have  an  equal  or  greater  share  of  miracles  and  mar- 
vels, of  rites  and  ceremonies;  but  they  lack  the  spiritual  fire. 
It  is  this  that  gave  Judaism  its  sublimity,  its  preeminence 
over  contemporary  cults,  and  now,  transmitted  to  Christian- 
ity, makes  the  latter  most  worthy  of  our  allegiance. 

We  may,  more  specifically,  mention  three  aspects  of  this 
Hebrew  devotion  to  righteousness :  — 

(1)  It  was,  first  and  foremost,  an  ideal  for  the  nation  as  a 
nation,  a  high  conception  of  public  morality,  of  God-fearing 
politics,  of  social  justice.  Prophets  arose,  under  the  stress 
of  national  suspense  and  agony,  who  denounced  in  ringing 
terms  the  oppression  by  the  rich,  the  injustice  and  gluttony 
and  lust  of  Jehovah's  faithless  people.  These  are  the  men 
who  made  Israel's  religion  great,  —  Elijah,  standing  up 
against  a  murderous  king  and  demanding  justice  in  the  name 
of  Jehovah; 1  Amos,  proclaiming  to  the  self-satisfied  and  as- 
tonished people  that  punishment  would  fall  upon  them 

1  1  Kings  21. 


58  HISTORICAL 

"  because  they  have  sold  righteous  men  to  pay  a  petty  debt, 
because  they  trample  on  the  heads  of  the  poor,  and  mis- 
carry justice  for  the  humble  "; 1  Hosea,  rebuking  his  fellows 
"because  there  is  no  truth,  nor  mercy,  nor  knowledge  of 
God  in  the  land.  There  is  nought  but  swearing  and  break- 
ing faith,  and  killing,  and  stealing,  and  committing  adult- 
ery." -  "Cease  to  do  evil,"  cried  the  great  Isaiah,  "learn 
to  do  well;  seek  justice,  relieve  the  oppressed,  defend  the 
fatherless,  plead  for  the  widow."  3  In  the  humaneness  of 
its  provisions  the  Jewish  code  was  far  in  advance  of  con- 
temporary legislation;  4  and  the  prophets  looked  forward 
ardently  to  a  purged  and  transformed  social  order,  wherein 
righteousness  should  rule  in  every  relation  of  man  to  man. 
It  was  not  merely  the  individual,  but  the  national  life  that 
must  be  regenerated.  For  it  is  through  righteousness,  they 
held,  that  a  nation  lives  and  through  the  rottenness  of  sin 
that  it  perishes. 

(2)  The  crushing  of  the  Jewish  state  put,  for  the  time,  a 
quietus  upon  these  collective  aspirations,  concentrating 
attention  upon  personal  purity  and  individual  salvation 
—  wherein  was  both  a  loss  and  a  gain.  But,  indeed,  the 
civic  religion  of  the  earlier  prophets  was  a  matter  not  of 
outward  forms,  but  of  an  indwelling  spirit.  "For  I  desire 
mercy,"  said  the  prophets,  speaking  in  the  name  of  Jeho- 
vah, "mercy,  and  not  sacrifice;  and  the  knowledge  of  God 
more  than  burnt  offerings."  5  "  I  hate,  I  despise  your  feasts, 
and  I  will  take  no  delight  in  your  solemn  assemblies.  Take 
thou  away  from  me  the  noise  of  thy  songs;  I  will  not  hear 
the  melody  of  thy  viols.  But  let  justice  roll  down  as  waters, 

i  Amos  2:7.    Cf.  also  3:  9-10;  4:  1-2;  5:  15;  C:  1-7;  8:4-7. 

2  Hosea  4:  12.   Cf.  also  7:  1-7;  12:  7-8. 

3  Isa.  1 :  16-17.  Cf .  also  1 :  21-28;  3 :  14-26;  5 :  8-13;  10 :  1-2.  Mic.  2 : 1-2. 

4  See.  e.g.,  Exod.  23:  11-12.  Lev.  19:  9-18,  33-36;  25:  13-55.  Deut. 
23:  15-16;  24:  10-22. 

6  Hos.  6 :  6. 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  59 

righteousness  as  a  mighty  stream."  l  "Trample  my  courts 
no  more,  bring  no  more  vain  oblations.  I  cannot  endure 
wickedness  coupled  with  worship.  .  .  .Your  hands  are  full 
of  blood.  Wash  you,  make  you  clean;  put  away  the  evil 
of  your  doings  from  before  mine  eyes." 2 

The  unknown  writers  of  the  psalms  were  equally  pos- 
sessed with  this  sense  of  the  need  of  inward  purity;  the 
value  of  "  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart "  —  a  heart  that 
knows  its  own  weakness  and  sin  and  loathes  it  —  a  thought 
repugnant  to  paganism  —  had  never  elsewhere  been  ex- 
pressed as  by  them.  The  Greeks  and  Romans  exalted  the 
manly  virtues  —  honor,  integrity,  temperance,  courage,  and 
patriotism;  but  one  would  search  long  to  find  in  their  liter- 
ature aspirations  such  as  these:  "  Have  mercy  on  me,  O  God. 
.  .  .  Wash  me  thoroughly  from  mine  iniquity,  and  cleanse 
me  from  my  sin.  For  I  acknowledge  my  transgressions,  and 
my  sin  is  ever  before  me.  .  .  .  Behold,  thou  desirest  truth 
in  the  inward  parts;  .  .  .  Purge  me  with  hyssop  and  I  shall 

be  clean;  wash  me  and  I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow Create 

in  me  a  clean  heart,  0  God,  and  renew  a  right  spirit  within 
me.  Who  can  understand  his  errors?  Cleanse  thou  me  from 
secret  faults.  .  .  .  Let  the  words  of  my  mouth  and  the  medi- 
tations of  my  heart  be  acceptable  in  thy  sight."  3 

(3)  Another  noteworthy  fact  is  that  to  the  noblest  Jews 
this  imperious  summons  to  righteousness  was  not  a  burden 
and  a  yoke,  but  a  happiness  above  all  others.  "It  is  joy 
to  the  righteous  to  do  righteousness."  4  The  psalmists  burst 
forth  into  rhapsodic  celebrations  of  this  joy:"  Blessed  is 
the  man  whose  delight  is  in  Jehovah's  law."  "I  will  de- 
light myself  in  thy  commandments,  which  I  have  loved. 
Unless  thy  law  had  been  my  delight,  I  should  have  perished." 

1  Amos  5 :  21-24. 

2  Isa.  1 :  12-16.   Cf .  also  Ps.  40 :  6;  50 :  7-23;  51 :  16-17.   Joel  2 :  13. 

3  Ps.  51 :  1-10;  19 :  12-14.  4  Prov.  21;  15. 


60  HISTORICAL 

"  The  daughters  of  Judah  rejoiced  because  of  thy  statutes,  O 
Jehovah."  "Oh,  how  I  love  thy  law!  it  is  my  meditation  all 
the  day.  .  .  .  Thy  testimonies  are  the  rejoicing  of  my  heart."  ! 

In  short,  righteousness  is  the  great  word  of  Judaism;  the 
sense  of  its  importance,  the  enthusiasm  and  joy  in  it  that 
accepts  it  not  as  a  necessity,  but  as  a  glorious  privilege,  is 
the  great  contribution  of  the  Jews  to  the  world.2 

How  did  the  Messianic  hope  arise? 

But  this  devotion  to  moral  ideals  was  by  no  means  all  of 
their  religion;  there  was  also  the  hope  of  Jehovah's  help. 
Through  all  their  misfortunes  they  clung  to  the  faith  that 
he  would  in  his  own  time  confound  their  foes  and  vindicate 
the  trust  of  the  faithful.  As  they  realized  more  and  more 
their  weakness  and  the  might  of  their  enemies,  they  came 
more  and  more  to  picture  this  overturn  as  accomplished  by 
a  striking  and  dramatic  cataclysm.  When  this  should  be 
accomplished,  these  proud  and  powerful  neighbors  of  theirs 

1  Ps.  1:1-*;  119:47,92,97,  111;  97:8. 

2  Cf.  Rausehenbusch,  p.  4:  "The  fundamental  conviction  of  the  prophets, 
which  distinguished  them  from  the  ordinary  religious  life  of  their  day,  was 
the  conviction  that  God  demands  righteousness  and  demands  nothing  but 
righteousness." 

And  Matthew  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma,  pp.  50,  326:  "As  long  as  the 
world  lasts,  all  who  want  to  make  progress  in  righteousness  will  come  to 
Israel  for  inspiration,  as  to  the  people  who  have  had  the  sense  for  righteous- 
ness most  glowing  and  strongest;  and  in  hearing  and  reading  the  words 
Israel  has  uttered  for  us,  carers  for  conduct  will  find  a  glow  and  a  force 
they  could  find  nowhere  else.  .  .  .  Other  nations  had  something  of  this 
idea,  but  they  were  not  possessed  with  it;  and  to  feel  it  enough  to  make  the 
world  feel  it,  it  was  necessary  to  be  possessed  with  it." 

Arnold  should  have  said,  however,  "come  to  the  Bible  for  inspiration," 
rather  than  "to  Israel."  Probably  not  one  in  ten,  or  one  in  a  hundred,  in 
Israel  ever  had  this  passion  for  righteousness.  The  Bible  writers  are  of 
those  few.  As  in  describing  the  "Greek"  spirit  I  warned  the  reader 
that  such  a  spirit  actually  possessed  but  few  of  the  Greeks,  so  the  "He- 
braic" spirit  possessed  numerically  few  Hebrews.  But  in  both  cases  it  was 
the  few  that  counted  in  influencing  the  world's  life. 


THE  HEBREW  RELIGION  61 

were  to  be  cast  into  darkness,  and  Jehovah  would  rejgn 
on  earth  over  the  faithful  remnant  of  his  people,  giving  them 
the  final  reward  of  their  fidelity,'  which  they  pictured  in 
very  material  terms,  as  an  earthly  kingdom,  with  earthly 
pleasures,  a  glorification  of  Israel  before  the  world.1 

Many  elements  in  their  situation  contributed  to  these 
pathetic  popular  hopes  —  their  outward  impotence  under 
the  galling  yoke  of  their  oppressors;  their  dogged  belief  in 
Jehovah's  power;  the  memory  of  the  golden  age  of  David 
behind  them,  now  idealized,  and  a  constant  spur  to  their 
ambitions;  their  lack  of  belief  in  a  life  after  death.  But  some 
leader  there  must  be,  appointed  by  Jehovah,  to  establish 
this  Divine  Kingdom  —  some  messiah  2  consecrated  to  the 
task  of  freeing  the  people  and  realizing  for  them  their  divine 
destiny.  Some  thought  of  him  as  a  conqueror  like  David,  a 
great  military  leader,  who  would  put  to  rout  their  enemies 
and  establish  a  world-wide  rule.  Others  pictured  him  rather 
as  a  supernatural  figure,  to  come  on  the  clouds  of  heaven  and 
judge  the  nations  by  the  strength  of  Jehovah's  right  arm  — 
Israel  simply  awaiting  in  passive  prayer  this  miraculous  de- 
liverance. Still  others,  and  the  noblest  of  the  Jews,  held  that 
the  people  must  first  be  transformed  in  their  hearts  and 
worthy  of  so  great  a  salvation;  only  when  they  were  faithful 
and  pure  enough  would  Jehovah  manifest  his  power,  and 
inaugurate  the  reign  of  peace  and  universal  prosperity.3 

1  See,  e.g.,  Isa.  chaps.  9,  11,  30:  18/.,  40,  60,  65:  17/.,  66:  18/.  Mic.  4, 
7:7/.  Amos  9:  14/.,  Zeph.  3:8/.,  Jer.  23:  3/.,  30:  18/.  Ezek.  34:  11/., 
37 :  21  /. 

2  The  word  "messiah"  (translated  in  Greek  into  the  word  "christ") 
meant  "anointed."  Kings,  prophets,  and  priests  were  anointed  for  their 
special  work  in  the  service  of  God;  a  messiah  was,  then,  a  man  consecrated 
to  some  divine  work.  And  The  Messiah  was  to  be  The  Man  consecrated  by 
God  to  this  greatest  of  all  tasks,  of  bringing  in  the  Kingdom  of  God. 

3  See  W.  D.  E.  Oesterley,  Evolution  of  the  Messianic  Idea.  E.  C.  A.  Riehm, 
Messianic  Prophecy.  F.  J.  Delitzch,  Messianic  Prophecies  in  Historical  Suc- 
cession. C.  F.  Kent,  Sermons,  Epistles,  and  Apocalypses  of  Israel's  Prophets, 
pp.  39-48.   G.  S.  Goodspeed,  Israel's  Messianic  Hope. 


62  HISTORICAL 

•All  of  these  variant  dreams  were  gradually  accepted  by 
the  piety  of  the  people  as  authoritative.  Attempts  to  recon- 
cile them  were,  of  course,  hopeless;  but  different  groups 
pinned  their  faith  to  different  aspects  of  the  picture  —  while 
many,  of  course,  were  skeptical  altogether.  When  and 
where  and  how  should  appear  this  Messiah?  This  prophet 
and  that  was  looked  to  eagerly,  but  the  Great  Event  came 
not  yet;  and  the  people,  intense  with  expectation,  exhorted 
by  their  prophets  to  repent  of  their  sins  before  it  should  be 
too  late  to  have  a  part  in  the  New  Order,  chafing  under  their 
bondage,  awaited  their  hero  and  savior.  Orthodox  Jews  still 
await  Him ;  liberal  Jews  have  long  ago  become  disillusioned 
and  given  up  the  fantastic  hope.1  But  at  the  time  when 
that  hope  was  most  intense,  a  small  band,  mostly  of  Galilean 
peasants,  believed  they  had  found  this  Messiah,  this  Christ, 
in  the  person  of  a  young  prophet  named  Jesus. 

J.  P.  Peters,  Religion  of  the  Hebrews.  H.  P.  Smith,  Religion  of 
Israel.  R.  L.  Ottley,  Religion  of  Israel.  W.  E.  Addis,  Hebrew  Reli- 
gion. A.  Loisy,  Religion  of  Israel.  K.  Marti,  Religion  of  the  Old 
Testament.  A.  Duff,  Theology  and  Ethics  of  the  Hebrews.  J.  C. 
Todd,  Politics  and  Religion  in  Ancient  Israel.  L.  B.  Paton,  Primi- 
tive Religion  of  Israel.  K.  Budde,  Religion  of  Israel  to  the  Exile. 
T.  K.  Cheyne,  Jewish  Religion  after  the  Exile;  The  Two  Religions 
of  Israel.  C.  Cornill,  Prophets  of  Israel.  W.  R.  Smith,  Prophets  of 
Israel.  L.  W.  Batten,  The  Hebrew  Prophet.  M.  Buttenwieser, 
Prophets  of  Israel.  G.  Santayana,  Reason  in  Religion,  chap.  v. 
S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap.  vn.  W.  Rauschenbusch,  Christianity 
and  the  Social  Crisis,  chap.  i.  New  World,  vol.  4,  p.  98.  Biblical 
World,  vol.  42,  pp.  234,  305,  373;  vol.  43,  p.  44.  Kautsch,  in 
Hastings'  Bible  Dictionary,  extra  volume,  p.  612. 

1  For  the  present  status  of  the  Jewish  religion  see  New  World,  vol.  4, 
p.  601. 

For  the  period  between  the  Testaments,  see  C.  H.  Toy's  Judaism  and 
Christianity,  W.  Fairweather,  Background  of  the  Gospels.  R.  H.  Charles, 
Religious  Development  between  the  Old  and  New  Testaments. 


CHAPTER  V 

JESUS   THE   CHRIST 

What  are  the  sources  of  our  knowledge  of  the  life  of  Christ? 

In  studying  the  history  of  the  founding  of  Christianity,  as 
in  the  case  of  all  religious  history  written  by  the  believers 
themselves,  we  must  beware  of  accepting  at  its  face  value 
whatever  is  told  us  by  the  narrators.  As  notably  in  the  tra- 
ditions of  their  own  history  that  the  Jews  treasured  in  their 
sacred  books,  so  in  the  Christian  tradition  legendary  ma- 
terial has  crept  in,  and  events  have  been  unconsciously  col- 
ored and  warped  in  accordance  with  later  religious  concep- 
tions. If  we  honestly  desire  to  know  what  can  now  be  known 
of  the  Great  Teacher  whose  name  has  become,  to  us  of 
"  Christendom,"  synonymous  with  virtue  itself,  we  must  be 
willing  to  look  through  the  veil  of  mist  which  the  religious 
veneration  of  centuries  has  drawn  about  him  and  study  the 
records  that  remain  to  us  of  his  life  as  we  would  study  those 
of  any  other  great  religious  leader  —  Buddha,  Confucius, 
St.  Francis  —  sifting  the  historical  from  the  legendary, 
allowing  for  the  evident  bias  of  biographers,  and  deducing 
only  what  can  legitimately  be  deduced  from  the  confused 
and  scanty  material  we  have  to  draw  upon. 

At  the  outset  we  must  face  the  fact  that  outside  of  a  small 
band  of  followers,  mostly  illiterate  fisher-  and  peasant-folk, 
Christ  made  no  impression  upon  his  times.  His  public  career 
lasted  probably  not  over  a  year  and  a  half,  and  was  spent, 
except  for  the  last  few  days  or  weeks,  in  the  out-of-the-way 
province  of  Galilee.  To  the  priests  and  Jewish  upper  classes, 
as  to  the  Roman  officials,  that  brief  and  humble  career  was 


64  HISTORICAL 

not  distinguishably  different  from  those  of  the  numerous 
other  contemporary  reformers  and  agitators.  The  outside 
references  to  Christ  —  brief  allusions  by  the  Jewish  histo- 
rian Josephus  (by  many  considered  spurious)  and  the  Ro- 
man authors  Tacitus,  Suetonius,  and  Pliny  —  are  scarcely 
enough  even  to  testify  to  the  fact  of  his  existence,  since  they 
doubtless  merely  accept  the  belief  of  the  early  Christians  in  a 
historic  Jesus  who  was  crucified  by  Pontius  Pilate.  But  the 
witness  of  Paul,  our  earliest  source,  is  quite  enough  to  guar- 
antee his  historicity;  for  Paul,  though  he  never  knew  Jesus 
in  the  flesh,  must  have  talked,  a  very  few  years  after  his 
death,  with  many  who  had  known  him  well.  He  tells  us,  in 
his  few  extant  letters,  nothing  to  speak  of  about  the  earthly 
life  of  Jesus;  but  he  is  witness  to  the  extraordinary  impres- 
sion that  Jesus  had  made  upon  his  little  circle  of  disciples. 
And  fortunately  there  is  material  enough  in  the  three  Syn- 
optic Gospels  to  enable  the  skilled  historian  to  reconstruct 
with  considerable  assurance  the  historic  figure  of  Jesus  and 
the  main  events  of  his  public  life.  Such  a  reconstruction  has 
been  made,  with  infinite  pains  and  loving  care,  by  the  coop- 
erative efforts  of  many  modern  scholars.  Except  for  a  few 
mooted  points  —  and  principally  those  affected  by  dog- 
matic considerations  —  there  is  now  a  pretty  general  agree- 
ment among  re'iable  historians  as  to  the  probable  facts  of 
his  career  and  the  cardinal  points  of  his  teaching. 

Besides  the  Synoptic  Gospels  there  are  some  fragments  of 
non-canonical  narratives;  these,  however,  are  mostly  late 
and  of  very  dubious  authenticity;  at  best  they  add  little  of 
importance  to  the  picture.  The  Fourth  Gospel  is  now  gen- 
erally conceded  to  be  later  than  the  Synoptics,  and  rather 
theological  than  historic  in  its  interest.  Written  to  set  forth 
the  view  of  the  author  l  as  to  the  nature  and  mission  of 

1  The  author's  name  may  have  been  John;  but  (pace  some  conserva- 
tive scholars  who  still  cling  to  the  traditional  view)  he  was  certainly  not  the 


JESUS  THE   CHRIST  63 

Christ,  it  is  valuable  in  showing  the  tendencies  of  early 
Christian  theology,  for  its  intrinsic  charm  and  sweetness, 
and  for  its  insight  into  the  meaning  that  Christ's  life  had  and 
was  to  have  for  his  followers.  But  it  is  of  little  value  in 
helping  us  to  get  an  idea  of  the  real  Jesus  as  he  lived  and 
taught  on  earth.  The  book  was  probably  not  intended  to 
be  taken  as  a  literal  record  of  events,  but  as  a  dramatic  pic- 
ture illustrating  and  explaining  the  author's  conception  of 
Jesus  as  the  Logos  (Word)  or  Earthly  Manifestation  of  God. 
The  literary  device,  by  which  speeches  and  acts  are  attrib- 
uted to  Christ  in  accordance  with  what  the  author  conceived 
that  he  might  have  said  and  done,  was  not  uncommon  or 
considered  illegitimate  in  those  days.  Indeed,  it  was  the 
common  practice  of  ancient  historians. 

We  are  thrown  back,  then,  upon  the  three  Synoptic  Gos- 
pels, as,  practically  speaking,  our  only  source.  The  first 
and  third  of  these  were  composed  by  combining  the  Mark 
biography  (itself  evidently  a  compilation  of  traditions  rather 
than  a  first-hand  narrative)  with  a  collection  of  Sayings  of 
Christ  (together  with  certain  other  scattering  material, 
particularly  in  the  Third  Gospel).  The  collection  of  Say- 
ings, which  tradition  attributes  to  the  Apostle  Matthew 
(whence  his  name  has  become  attached  to  the  Gospel  that 
makes  greatest  use  of  it)  exists  now  only  as  it  has  been  in- 
corporated into  our  Gospels.  As  they  stand,  "Mark"  dates 
from  70-75  a.d.,  "Matthew"  and  "Luke"  from  five  to 
twenty  years  later.  That  is  to  say,  the  earliest  extant  docu- 
ment recording  the  facts  of  Christ's  life  and  teaching  dates 
from  about  forty  or  forty-five  years  after  his  death.  The 
repetition  of  its  incidents  in  the  parallel  narratives  of  the 
other  Gospels  is  of  no  corroborative  value,  since  the  authors 

disciple.  See  E.  F.  Scott,  The  Fourth  Gospel,  its  Purpose  and  Theology. 
J.  Warschauer,  The  Problem  of  the  Fourth  Gospel.  B.  W.  Bacon,  The  Fourth 
Gospel  in  Research  and  Debate. 


66  HISTORICAL 

simply  copied  from  Mark.  No  one  of  the  Gospels  was 
written  by  a  personal  friend  of  Christ  or  eyewitness  of  the 
events  of  his  life.1 


What  were  the  salient  events  in  his  life? 

Jesus  was  the  oldest  of  at  least  seven  brothers  and  sisters.2 
Wherever  he  may  have  been  born,3  he  was  brought  up,  as  a 
carpenter,  or  house-builder,  at  Nazareth  in  Galilee,  and 
known  all  his  life  as  a  Nazarene.  Of  his  youth  we  know  prac- 
tically nothing,  save  that  he  must  have  become  deeply 
versed  in  his  national  Scriptures  and  filled  with  the  expecta- 

1  It  is  needless  to  point  out  that  forty  years  is  long  enough  for  the  legend- 
ary element  to  have  grown  to  any  length.  Witness  Bonaventura's  life  of 
St.  Francis,  dating  likewise  from  forty  years  after  that  Saint's  death,  and 
replete  with  marvel  and  miracle.  Parallel  cases  could  be  cited  from  every 
field  of  religious  history. 

See  P.  Wernle,  Sources  of  Our  Knowledge  of  the  Life  of  Jesus.  V.  H. 
Stanton,  The  Gospels  as  Historical  Documents.  F.  C.  Burkitt,  Earliest 
Sources  for  the  Life  of  Jesus;  The  Gospel  History  and  its  Transmission. 
E.  F.  Scott,  The  Apologetic  of  the  New  Testament. 

The  best  Introductions  to  the  New  Testament  in  English  are  those  of 
G.  A.  Jiilicher,  B.  W.  Bacon,  J.  Moffatt,  G.  B.  Gray,  and  A.  S.  Peake. 
The  translation  of  the  New  Testament  by  J.  Moffatt  (3d  ed.,  1914)  is  per- 
haps the  best  to  date.  The  Twentieth  Century  New  Testament  (F.  H.  Revell 
Company)  and  R.  F.  Weymouth's  Modern  Speech  New  Testament  are  ver- 
sions in  modern  colloquial  English,  useful  in  clarifying  obscure  sayings. 
See  further  the  remarks  on  editions  of  the  Bible  on  pp.  49-50.  A  good  Har- 
mony of  the  Gospels  is  useful  in  making  it  easier  to  trace  the  development 
of  the  tradition  from  Gospel  to  Gospel;  J.  M.  Thompson's  Synoptic  Gospels 
is  the  best  to  date. 

2  Mark  6:  3. 

8  The  birth-  and  infancy-stories  with  which  the  First  and  Third  Gospels 
are  now  prefaced  are  later  than  the  bulk  of  those  Gospels;  together  with 
the  resurrection-stories  at  the  end,  they  are  called  by  scholars  The  Outer 
Envelope.  See  Holtzmann,  chap,  iv;  Reville  in  New  World,  vol.  1,  p.  695 
(also  in  his  Vie  de  Jesus,  unfortunately  not  translated).  For  the  question 
of  the  virgin  birth  see  P.  Lobstein,  Virgin  Birth  of  Christ.  J.  E.  Carpenter, 
Bible  in  the  Ninteenth  Century,  pp.  480-97.  O.  Pfleiderer,  Primitive  Chris- 
tianity, Eng.  tr.,  vol.  II,  pp.  504-10;  also  American  Journal  of  Theology, 
vol.  10,  p.  1. 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  67 

tion  of  the  imminent  fulfillment  of  the  hope  of  Israel.1  At 
the  age  of  about  thirty  he  was  attracted  by  the  vigorous 
preaching  of  another  young  man  named  John,  who  had 
drawn  quite  a  following  about  him  and  was  called  "The 
Baptist"  (or  "Baptizer"),  from  a  rite  of  purification  from 
their  sins  which  he  enjoined  upon  his  disciples.  John  was  a 
striking  figure,  a  reincarnation  of  the  old  spirit  of  the  proph- 
ets, forceful,  ascetic,  severe  in  his  denunciations  of  the  sins 
and  injustices  of  the  people,  solemn  in  his  warning  that  they 
must  not  count  on  their  descent  from  Abraham  to  insure 
them  participation  in  the  speedily  coming  Messianic  King- 
dom; only  those  who  were  found  worthy  would  be  admit- 
ted, and  immediate  repentance  was  imperative.  Jesus  was 
among  those  who  submitted  to  his  rite  of  baptism;2  and, 
according  to  the  tradition,  it  was  at  that  moment  that  he 
became  conscious  of  his  mission.  John  was  soon  thereafter 
thrown  into  prison,  and  presently  executed,  by  the  ruler  of 
the  country.  But  Jesus  took  up  the  role  of  prophet,  with  the 
summons  he  had  heard  on  the  Baptist's  lips,  "Repent  ye, 
for  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  at  hand !  "  3 

By  the  vigor  of  his  preaching  and  the  force  and  charm  of 
his  personality,  Jesus  quickly  attracted  attention  and  gath- 
ered disciples  about  him,  as  John  had  done.  Moreover,  he 
soon  found  himself  possessed  in  a  remarkable  degree  of  the 
power  to  work  what  we  should  call  faith-cures,  and  was 
surrounded  by  an  eager  crowd  of  health-seekers.  In  his  own 
home,  Nazareth,  he  was,  indeed,  received  with  jeers;  and  the 
narrator  tells  us  frankly  that  he  was  unable  to  perform  many 
cures  there  because  of  their  lack  of  faith.  But  in  the  lake- 
side towns,  some  miles  away,  he  created  quite  a  stir;  and 

1  The  incident  recorded  in  Luke  2 :  41-52  illustrates,  if  it  is  historical, 
his  early  interest  in  religion. 

2  Jesus  seems  never  to  have  administered  baptism;  but  the  earliest  dis- 
ciples did.   See  E.  F.  Scott,  Beginnings  of  the  Church,  chap.  vn. 

3  Mark  1:14.   Matt.  4: 17. 


68  HISTORICAL 

there  most  of  his  preaching  was  done.  Jesus  himself  seems 
to  have  sought  to  avoid  too  much  healing  activity,  whether 
because  it  tended  to  bring  him,  like  John,  too  dangerously 
into  Herod's  notice,  or  simply  because  it  interfered  with  the 
preaching  which  he  had  more  at  heart.  The  burden  of  his 
message  was  the  call  to  repentance,  and  his  favorite  method 
the  illustration  in  incomparable  parables  of  the  inner  qual- 
ities necessary  to  insure  participation  in  the  imminently 
approaching  Kingdom. 

Outwardly,  then,  he  seemed  a  prophet  like  John,  though 
of  a  gentler  and  more  spiritual  nature.1  But  in  his  own  heart 
he  came  to  believe  himself,  it  is  impossible  now  to  be  sure 
when  or  how,2  the  long-awaited  Messiah:  or  rather  the 
Messiah-elect,  who  in  God's  own  time  would  be  endowed 
with  supernatural  power  to  bring  in  the  New  Age.3  At  first 
he  told  no  one  of  this  secret  belief  in  his  own  destiny.  But 
when  Peter,  the  most  ardent  and  impulsive  of  his  followers, 
expressed  the  same  conviction,  he  did  not  deny  it,  enjoining 
silence,  however,  upon  his  disciples  until  "his  time  should 
come."  4  Meanwhile  he  was  content  to  pass  from  village  to 
village,  winning  as  many  as  he  could  from  their  heedlessness 

1  It  is  significant  that  the  people  took  him  for  John  redivivus.  "  Who  do 
men  say  that  I  am?  And  they  told  him,  saying,  John  the  Baptist;  and 
others  Elijah;  and  others,  One  of  the  prophets."   Mark  8:  28. 

2  The  tradition  puts  his  "Messianic  conviction"  at  the  time  of  the 
Baptism.  But  many  scholars  believe  that  it  took  possession  of  him  only 
later,  at  the  height  of  his  success,  in  connection  with  his  inevitable  recog- 
nition of  his  mental  and  spiritual  supremacy  over  his  fellows. 

3  This  by  no  means  implied  that  he  equaled  or  identified  himself  with 
God.  It  is  needless  to  point  to  such  verses  as  Mark  10:  18,  "Why  callest 
thou  me  good?  None  is  good  save  One,  even  God";  it  suffices  to  realize 
what  the  Jewish  conception  of  the  Messiah  was  —  a  more  or  less  glorified  and 
supernaturally  endowed  figure,  but  absolutely  distinct  from  God  himself. 
The  question  of  the  divinity  of  Christ  will  be  discussed  below,  on  p.  142  ff . 

The  Greek  word  xPL<TTfc>  by  the  way,  which  has  been  transliterated 
into  our  Christ,  means  he-icho-is-to-be-anointed  —  i.e.,  the  Messiah-elect  — 
rather  than  one  who  is  now  playing  the  part  of  Messiah. 

*  Mark  8:  29-30. 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  69 

and  sin,  teaching  them  the  Way  of  life  that  he  believed  to  be 
in  harmony  with  God's  will,  and  awaiting  in  perfect  faith 
the  time  when  he  should  be  called  upon  to  play  his  glorious 
Messianic  role. 

The  first  flush  of  his  success,  however,  soon  paled.  The 
scribes  were  offended  from  the  beginning  because  he  assumed 
their  role  of  authoritative  interpreter  of  the  Scriptures, 
while  scorning  their  minute  and  hair-splitting  casuistry. 
The  Pharisees,  the  orthodox  of  their  day,  were  scandalized 
because  he  refused  to  keep  the  proper  fasts,  to  observe  the 
Sabbath  punctiliously,  to  refrain  from  eating  with  the  "  un- 
clean." Their  distrust  and  hatred  of  Jesus  were  quickly 
matched  by  his  fearless  and  outspoken  rebukes  of  their 
hypocrisy  and  self -righteousness;  and  the  rupture  thus 
brought  about  grew  steadily  greater.  There  are  indications 
in  the  Gospel  narrative  that  many  of  his  temporary  adher- 
ents deserted  him,  and  that  at  times  he  was  even  forced  to 
flee  the  country  by  the  threats  made  against  him.  The 
Galilean  mission  bade  fair  to  dwindle  into  insignificance;  and 
when  he  finally  left  his  home-country  and  "  set  his  face  stead- 
fastly to  Jerusalem,"  —  well  aware  of  the  fate  that  probably 
awaited  him  at  the  capital,  —  it  was  with  a  bitter  denuncia- 
tion of  the  hard-heartedness  and  unbelief  of  the  towns  where 
his  preaching  career  had  been  spent.1  Something  more  dra- 
matic must  be  done;  matters  must  be  brought  to  a  head, 
the  crisis  evoked  —  and  that  could  only  be  at  the  holy  city; 
—  "I  must  go  on  my  way  .  .  .  for  it  cannot  be  that  a  prophet 
perish  out  of  Jerusalem."  2 

It  is  possible  that  Jesus  expected,  when  he  went  to  Jeru- 
salem, at  the  time  of  the  feast  of  the  Passover,  that  Jehovah 
would  intervene  there  dramatically  to  vindicate  him  by  in- 
vesting him  with  the  Messianic  powers.  But  there  are  indi- 
cations that  he  had  already  become  convinced  that  he  must 
1  Matt.  11 :  20-24.  2  Luke  13 :  33. 


70  HISTORICAL 

first  suffer  and  die,  and  was  only  then  to  come,  from  heaven, 
in  the  spectacular  manner  of  the  popular  expectation.  For 
this  he  could  find  Scriptural  warrant.  The  descriptions  of 
the  "  suffering  servant "  of  Jehovah,1  although  originally  re- 
ferring to  the  people  of  Israel  as  a  whole,  were  currently 
taken  as  prophetic  descriptions  of  the  coming  Messiah,  and 
were  doubtless  applied  by  Jesus  to  himself.  He  could  take 
these  predictions  of  a"  man  of  sorrows"  as  referring  to  the 
preliminary  phase  of  his  appearance,  and  so  harmonize  them 
with  the  glorified  pictures  of  the  triumphant  Messiah  to  be 
found  elsewhere  in  the  Scriptures.  Thus  by  his  rejection  and 
death  should  the  humble  and  faithful  be  clearly  separated 
from  the  hard-hearted  and  unbelieving,  and  all  the  Scripture 
be  fulfilled.2  At  any  rate,  he  did  not  falter.  His  first  act  was 
to  drive  out  from  the  Temple,  with  the  aid,  probably,  of  his 
little  band  of  loyal  followers,  the  money-changers  and 
sellers  of  sacrificial  animals,  who,  to  his  mind,  were  shock- 
ingly out  of  place  within  the  sacred  precincts.  And  it 
was,  in  all  probability,  this  impetuous  act,  incurring,  as  it 
must  have  incurred,  the  anger  of  the  priests  and  all 
maintainers  of  the  established  order,  that  actually  brought 
about  his  death. 

From  that  moment  the  Jewish  authorities  sought  for  an 
unimpeachable  excuse  for  putting  Jesus  out  of  the  way.  He 
had,  however,  doubtless  awakened  considerable  popular 
interest  in  the  city;  and  they  hesitated  to  incur  any  wide- 
spread resentment.  But  before  many  days  one  of  his  in- 
timate circle  of  disciples  himself  gave  them  their  handle. 
Become  skeptical,  probably,  of  Jesus'  pretensions,  and  with 
that,  of  course,  angry  at  his  presumption,  or  possibly  with  a 
blind  trust  in  them  and  an  impatience  to  bring  on  the  de- 
nouement, Judas  betrayed  his  secret  claim  to  the  Messiah- 

i  See  Isa.  42:  1-9;  49: 1-6;  50:  4-9;  52:  13;  53:  12. 
2  Cf.  Matt.  26 :  56. 


JESUS  THE    CHRIST  71 

ship  to  the  priests.1  Such  blasphemy  deserved  death.  He 
was  arrested,  brought  before  the  council,  and  asked  point- 
blank  if  he  was  the  Messiah.  He  answered,  "  I  am.  And  ye 
shall  very  soon  see  the  Son  of  Man  sitting  at  the  right  hand 
of  power  and  coming  on  the  clouds  of  heaven."  2  To  the 
priests  —  indeed  to  any  one  save  the  few  who  had  come 
thoroughly  under  the  spell  of  his  personality  —  such  an 
assertion  on  the  part  of  a  humble  and  unknown  Galilean  was 
the  most  impudent  and  outrageous  sacrilege.  The  crowd 
turned  against  him;  and  he  was  hustled  off,  amid  jeers  and 
insults,  to  an  ignominious  fate.  We  are  told  of  his  agony  of 
spirit  in  the  garden  where  he  was  arrested,  and  can  guess  the 
bitter  doubt  that  found  utterance  in  the  despairing  cry  from 
the  cross,  "My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me! "  3  But  he  conquered  his  weakness,  bowed  to  the  Divine 
plan,  and  met  his  death  serenely,  a  martyr  to  his  faith  in  his 
own  destiny.  Surely  the  pathos  of  human  blindness  and 
blunder  was  never  more  tragically  exemplified  than  at  this 
moment  when  the  leaders  of  the  Jewish  people  misprized  and 
sentenced  to  death,  in  the  flush  of  his  early  manhood,  the 
noblest  and  rarest  of  their  sons,  the  man  of  whom  a  cen- 
turion, standing  by  at  the  end,  in  the  late  afternoon  of  that 
April  day,  and  catching  his  last  words,  "Father,  into  thy 
hands  I  commend  my  spirit,"  is  reported  to  have  said, 
"Truly  this  man  was  son  of  a  god! "  4 

1  This  seems  the  most  probable  explanation  of  the  "betrayal."  The 
information  of  Judas  would  not  have  been  necessary  to  disclose  his 
whereabouts,  since  he  was  teaching  daily  in  public,  and  could  easily  be 
followed  to  his  sleeping-place. 

2  Mark  14 :  62.  Matt.  26 :  64.  The  phrase  translated  in  the  older  ver- 
sions "henceforth,"  or  "hereafter"  (air'  dpri),  means  rather  "soon,"  or 
"presently."  This  prediction  is  in  consonance  with  a  number  of  other 
reported  sayings  of  Jesus. 

3  Mark  15 :  34. 

4  Or  "a  Divine  Hero"  —  i.e.,  one  of  the  innumerable  divine  or  semi- 
divine  beings  whose  existence  the  pagan  mind  accepted.    This  reported 


72  HISTORICAL 

What  were  the  striking  features  of  Christ's  personality? 

Of  the  resurrection-faith  —  that  startling  conviction  that 
thrilled  the  little  band  of  believers  and  became  the  corner- 
stone of  a  new  community  —  we  shall  presently  speak.  But 
with  the  closing-in  of  Good  Friday  night  the  curtain  fell  on 
the  life-work  of  him  who  is  generally  conceded  to  be  the 
greatest  of  earth's  saints  and  seers.1  Such  as  we  have 
sketched  them,  or  not  far  different,  we  must  conceive  the 
main  facts  of  his  life  to  have  been  —  a  brief  flash  of  light  in  a 
dark  and  confused  age.  But  this  is  not  all  the  story.  To  the 
world  of  the  past  nineteen  centuries  that  life  has  been  the 
type  of  human  excellence,  the  ideal  and  pattern  of  the  life  of 
the  spirit.  And  it  is  fitting  that  so  it  should  be.  For  more 
significant  than  the  outward  course  of  his  young  life,  so 
tragically  cut  short,  is  the  secret  of  his  personality,  which 
has  so  steadily  dominated  the  religious  consciousness  of  men. 

But  the  historic  Jesus  that  emerges  to  our  view  as  the 
result  of  the  modern  historical  study  of  the  Gospels  is  a  very 
different  figure  from  the  effeminate  Christ  of  mediaeval  art 
or  the  misty  God-man  of  traditional  dogma.  It  is  rather  a 
dominating  and  grippingly  human  personality  —  strong, 
fearless,  stern,  passionate  in  exhortation  and  rebuke;  and 
yet  with  a  rare  purity  and  sweetness,  a  penetrating  faith  in 
sinful  men,  and  a  boundless  love.  The  longer  one  lingers  over 
the  Gospel  narratives,  the  more  one  comes  to  comprehend 
the  remarkable  personal  impression  which  he  made  upon  the 

remark  of  the  Roman  soldier  has  nothing,  of  course,  to  do  with  the  much 
later  theological  belief  suggested  to  the  modern  reader  by  its  usual  Eng- 
lish rendering.  "  the  Son  of  God."    Luke  23:  46.   Mark  15 :  37-39. 

1  For  appreciations  of  Christ's  personality  on  the  part  of  those  who  have 
no  belief  in  his  supernatural  character,  see,  e.g.,  J.  S.  Mill,  Theism,  pt.  v. 
Matthew  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma,  chap.  m.  Emerson,  "Divinity 
School  Address"  (in  Nature,  Addresses,  and  Lectures).  E.  Renan,  Life  oj 
Jesus,  chap.  28. 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  73 

hearts  of  those  who  knew  him  well  and  the  heroic  devotion 
which  he  aroused. 

(1)  Perhaps  his  most  marked  trait  was  his  eagerness  to 
save  the  lost,  his  yearning  sympathy  for  all  who  might  be 
brought  to  repent  and  live  the  better  life.  He  mingled  gladly 
with  sinners  and  outcasts,  not  to  rebuke  them  or  to  weep 
over  them,  but  joining  heartily  in  their  merriment,  sitting 
with  them  at  table,  and  summoning  them  gently  to  their 
heritage  in  the  Kingdom.  Little  children  were  brought  to 
him  to  be  blessed,  and  the  sick  flocked  to  him  to  be  healed. 
For  all  who  were  humble  and  open-hearted,  who  hungered 
and  thirsted  after  righteousness,  however  far  they  might  be 
from  grace  by  any  conventional  standards,  he  had  a  tender 
compassion,  a  wide  and  forgiving  love.  "  O  Jerusalem,  Jeru- 
salem, which  killeth  the  prophets,  and  stoneth  them  that  are 
sent  unto  thee!  how  often  would  I  have  gathered  thy  chil- 
dren together,  even  as  a  hen  gathereth  her  chickens  under 
her  wings,  and  ye  would  not."  :  Of  a  young  man  we  are  told, 
"  And  Jesus,  looking  upon  him,  loved  him."  2 

(2)  In  spite  of  his  freedom  from  asceticism  and  formality, 
his  readiness  to  mingle  with  ordinary  unpretending  and  sin- 
ful people,  he  lived  himself  a  life  of  stainless  personal  purity. 
Through  his  absolute  allegiance  to  the  will  of  God  as  he  con- 
ceived it,  —  expressed  in  the  famous  utterance,  "  Not  my 
will  but  thine  be  done,"  and  kept  aglow  in  his  heart  by  long 
hours  of  solitary  prayer,  —  he  was  able  to  reject  every  temp- 
tation to  ease  or  personal  aggrandizement,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
sensitive  nature  and  frail  physique,3  to  keep  unflinchingly 
in  the  path  of  his  duty,  even  when  it  led  to  a  torturing  and 
undeserved  death.    The  verdict  of  his  disciples  was  that  he 

1  Matt.  23:37.  2  Mark  10:21. 

3  This  is  clearly  shown  by  the  fact  that  he  was  unable  to  carry  his  own 
cross  (or  the  transverse  beam  of  it),  as  was  usually  done  by  the  condemned; 
and  by  his  quick  death  —  strong  men  being  able  to  stand  the  pain  of  cruci- 
fixion for  many  hours,  or  even  several  days. 


74  HISTORICAL 

was  "  not  one  that  cannot  be  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmities;  but  one  that  hath  been  in  all  points  tempted 
like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin."  * 

(3)  Naturally  of  a  happy  and  peaceful  disposition,  —  see 
how  the  breath  of  the  Galilean  spring  breathes  through  his 
earlier  utterances,  —  he  blazed  into  anger  when  confronted 
with  hypocrisy  and  self-righteousness,  with  the  selfish  and 
scheming  orthodoxy  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees.  In  sharp- 
est contrast  with  his  pity  for  the  downcast  and  erring  is  his 
sternness  with  the  hard-hearted  and  callous.  He  did  not  hesi- 
tate, when  necessary,  to  use  physical  violence  to  end  evil 
practices;  witness  the  episode  of  the  cleansing  of  the  Temple. 
"Think  not,"  he  said,  "that  I  came  to  bring  peace  on  the 
earth;  I  came  to  bring  not  peace,  but  a  sword!"  No  wonder 
the  people  took  him  for  Elijah  or  John  the  Baptist. 2 

(4)  His  insight  into  human  nature,  his  direct,  straight- 
forward perception  of  moral  truths,  together  with  his  nat- 
ural talent  for  expression,  gave  him  a  felicity  of  utterance 
which  has  never  been  surpassed.  Capable  upon  occasion  of 
subtle  argumentation,  overflowing  now  and  then  into  genial 
humor,  biting  irony,  or  flash  of  wit,  but  in  general  homely  in 
his  language,  and  free  from  the  useless  verbiage  of  the 
schools,  keen  and  quick  at  epigram  and  paradox,  with  a  gift 
at  simile  and  parable,  his  sayings  remain  to-day  among  the 
most  memorable  —  many  of  us  would  say  the  most  memor- 
able —  of  the  spiritual  teachings  of  all  times.  Free  from  all 
servitude  to  the  orthodoxy  of  his  day,  following  always  his 
own  vision,  and  calling  to  his  disciples,  "Why  of  yourselves 
judge  ye  not  what  is  right?"  3  his  words  must  have  been  of 
rare  stimulating  power.   He  uttered  few  truths,  if  any,  that 

i  Heb.  4:  15. 

2  See,  for  instances  of  his  fierce  and  scornful  invective,  Matt.  11 :  20-24; 
10:  12-15;  10:  33-37.   Mark  10:  25.   Luke  6:  24-25.   Matt.  23. 

3  Luke  12:  57. 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  75 

had  not  been  expressed  before;  but  in  the  clarity,  terseness, 
and  limpid  simplicity  of  his  phrasing,  rid  as  it  is  of  so  much 
that  repels  or  mars  the  vision  in  the  utterances  of  earlier 
and  later  teachers,  we  have  reason  enough  to  understand 
how  his  auditors  "wondered  at  the  words  of  grace  which 
proceeded  out  of  his  mouth."  l 

What  were  the  striking  features  of  his  teaching? 

Every  great  teacher  must  express  his  insight  in  the  lan- 
guage and  conceptions  of  his  time  and  people  —  else  he  will 
not  be  understood,  and  will  have  no  influence.  Jesus  was 
a  Jew  2  of  nineteen  centuries  ago,  preaching  to  men  whose 
minds  were  steeped  in  a  very  peculiar  and  local  Weltan- 
schauung, scarcely  intelligible  to  us  save  by  considerable 
historical  study.  His  mind  was,  of  course,  moulded  by  the 
environment  in  which  he  grew  up,  and  his  concepts  were 
those  of  his  countrymen  in  the  first  few  decades  of  our  era. 
To  understand  him,  therefore,  we  must  take  into  account 
the  meaning  that  his  words  would  have  for  his  auditors,  and 

1  Luke  4:  22.  Cf.  W.  Bousset,  What  is  Religion?  p.  217:  "The  Jewish 
Rabbis  had,  indeed,  said  all  that  Jesus  said;  but,  unfortunately,  they  said 
so  much  else  besides.  .  .  .  The  classic  is  always  the  simple." 

2  The  Galileans  were,  to  be  sure,  of  mixed  race;  and  it  is  possible  —  if 
that  possibility  is  of  any  comfort  to  any  one  with  anti-Semitic  prejudices!  — 
that  his  ancestry  was  partly  Aryan.  But,  indeed,  the  Jews  are  among  the 
finest  of  human  stocks. 

The  Davidic  genealogies  in  Matthew  and  Luke  are  of  no  historic  value, 
as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  they  contradict  each  other  hopelessly.  (And 
both,  by  the  way,  purporting  to  derive  Jesus'  descent  from  David  through 
Joseph,  are  utterly  at  variance  with  the  virgin-birth  idea,  which  rejects 
Joseph  as  Jesus'  father.)  If  there  had  been  in  possession  of  the  family  a 
record  of  descent  from  David,  another  and  mistaken  genealogy  could 
hardly  have  obtained  circulation.  The  two  variant  genealogies  were,  of 
course,  the  product  of  the  prior  conviction  that  the  Messiah  must  come,  as 
the  prophets  had  predicted,  from  the  line  of  David.  But  Jesus  himself 
publicly  confuted  that  idea  (Mark  12:  35-37),  showing  that  he  did  not  base 
his  belief  in  his  Messiahship  on  such  grounds.  And  for  us  the  question 
whether  he  was  or  was  not  descended  from  that  idolized  adventurer-king 
has  no  particular  interest. 


76  HISTORICAL 

not  read  into  them  our  twentieth-century  ideas.  To  apply 
his  teachings  to  our  needs  we  shall,  indeed,  have,  to  some  ex- 
tent, to  translate  them  into  our  current  terms  and  modes  of 
thought;  and  when  we  have  done  that,  we  shall  find  them  of 
perennial  inspiration.  To  a  large  extent  the  problems  of  men 
then  are  their  problems  now;  in  its  essential  import  the 
teaching  of  the  great  seers  is  never  outdated.  And  this  is 
in  unusual  degree  the  case  with  Jesus.  For  he  was  no  social 
reformer, l  he  was  a  reformer  of  the  heart ;  and  while  outward 
conditions  change  so  rapidly  as  to  make  the  political  and 
social  revolutionist  of  one  era  a  mere  historical  object  of 
reverence  for  the  next,  the  spiritual  prophet  speaks  to  the 
common  needs  of  men  through  all  the  ages.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  to  get  a  correct  historical  view  of  his  teaching, 
we  must  see  him  in  his  setting,  take  what  he  says  in  the 
sense  in  which  his  disciples  must  have  understood  it,  and  not 
try  to  explain  away  what  is  alien  to  our  modern  thought,  or 
what  time  has  proved  untrue. 

(1)  The  background  of  Christ's  teaching  was  the  immi- 
nent approach  of  the  Messianic  era  —  the  Kingdom  of  God  on 
earth,  and  the  consequent  necessity  for  immediate  repent- 
ance. Only  the  pure  in  heart,  the  faithful  followers  of  Je- 
hovah, were  to  have  part  in  this  kingdom;  the  wicked  were 
to  be  cast  into  "outer  darkness,  where  there  is  wailing  and 
gnashing  of  teeth."  The  Judgment  Day  was  at  hand;  the 
wheat  was  to  be  separated  from  the  tares,  and  the  new  age 
of  universal  righteousness  and  peace  was  to  be  ushered  in. 

The  appearance  of  the  Messiah,  with  his  dramatic  installa- 
tion of  the  New  Order  of  things,  so  eagerly  awaited  by  the 
people,  might  be  at  any  moment;  and  only  the  righteous 
should  have  part  in  it.   "  Be  ye  ready,  for  in  such  an  hour  as 

1  In  view  of  some  contemporary  writing  about  Christ  it  may  be  well  to 
insist  upon  this  point.  See,  for  an  effective  elaboration  of  it,  Biblical  World, 
vol.  42,  p.  26. 


JESUS  THE   CHRIST  77 

ye  think  not  the  Son  of  man  cometh.  Verily  I  say  unto  you, 
this  generation  shall  not  pass  away  till  all  be  fulfilled."  l 
Later  piety,  disappointed  in  its  expectations,  construed 
these  promises  in  a  metaphorical  sense,  to  mean  an  inner 
coming  in  the  hearts  of  men;  obviously  they  could  not  long 
continue  to  take  literally  prophecies  that  had  not  been  ful- 
filled. But  every  student  is  forced  to  admit  that  Christ's 
immediate  predecessors  and  successors  expected  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  outward  kingdom,  and  meant  literally  what 
they  said;  and  all  the  ingenuity  of  theologians,  reading  our 
ideas  back  into  Christ's  words,  cannot  make  them  fit  the 
metaphorical  interpretation.  Nor  can  we  consider  them 
interpolations;  the  Gospels  are  too  full  of  them.  The  only 
passage  that  gave  much  plausibility  to  the  traditional  inter- 
pretation, "The  Kingdom  of  God  is  within  you,"  is  almost 
certainly  a  mistranslation.  It  reads  properly,  "The  King- 
dom of  God  cometh  not  with  observation  [i.e.,  not  so  gradu- 
ally that  you  can  watch  it  coming],  but  behold!  the  Kingdom 
of  God  is  [all  of  a  suddenj  in  the  midst  of  you!"  2  In  this 
suddenness  with  which  it  should  come  lay  the  point  of  the  re- 
peated exhortations  to  be  ready,  to  watch,  to  repent  before 
it  was  too  late.  Certainly,  if  Christ  put  an  esoteric  meaning 
into  his  words,  he  utterly  failed  to  convey  his  altered  mean- 
ing to  his  disciples;  and  it  is  fundamentally  inconsistent 
with  the  sincerity  and  straightforwardness  of  his  nature  that 
in  such  an  important  matter  he  should  have  used  words  in 
one  sense  which  his  listeners  were  bound  to  understand  in 
another.  We  are  bound,  therefore,  to  conclude  that  Jesus 
shared  the  belief  of  his  countrymen  in  an  outward  and  vis- 

1  Matt.  24:  34,  42-44;   25 :  13.   Luke  12:  40;  21 :  32,  36. 

2  Luke  17:  20-21.  The  correct  translation  is  given  in  the  margin  of  the 
Revised  Version.  The  Greek  preposition  is,  by  itself,  ambiguous.  But  the 
verses  following,  with  their  emphasis  upon  the  suddenness  of  the  coming, 
corroborate  this  interpretation.  And  Jesus  is  speaking  to  his  opponents, 
the  Pharisees;  the  Kingdom  was  surely  not  within  them. 


HISTORICAL 

ible  change,  a  New  Era  to  be  estab!  God,  there  in 

.  ;a,  in  the  imminent  futur 

is  should  have  shared  this  delusion,  and  e> 
cially  that  he  should  have  believed  himself  the  One  d 

G       to  play  the  r  a,  may  seem  us, 

with  our  long  perspective  by  which  to  <:  -atheti- 

call.  -  ane  hopes  of  th  ng  Jev        Bnl    after 

all,  there  was  a  deeper  truth  in  his  drean.  >ming  ' 

and  his  own  part  in  its  establishment  than  any  of 
contemporaries  could  know.   Though  g  be  far  r. 

removed  than  he  thought,  the  time  will  yet  come  v. 
will  shall  prevail  on  earth;  and  in  the  brii  .  A  that 

consummation  he  will  be  seen  to  have,  in  truth,  played  the 

:  even  without  \.  the  K 

dom,  and  .       >uld 

have  been  the  same.    It  v  re  interim-mora. 

it  was  a  description  of  the  ideal  life  of  the  <  nial 

era,  which  he  urged  men  to  adopt  ready  and 

prepare  the  i  I  that  gJo:  irnma\  1 

others  were  still  living  the  old  . 

be  already  living  by  the  eternal  .  ht  this 

no  tha'  leaders 

have  taught  similar  ideals  —  because  it  a:  f  to 

:eart  and  proved  itself  nee  the  way  of  solu- 

tion for  life's  perplexities  and  sorrov       <  rjan 

the  impending  Judgment-Day  he  of  V 

cbatologkal    school  —  Weiss,    Scbweii;  -refl, 

Borv  et  aL,  have  done  good  service  in  eniphasmng  tins  side  of 

hsoA   teaching.    For  corroboration  ot  the  point  of  view  here  taken,  a u y 
of  these  may  be  consulted-    See  also  H   L.  Jadbon,  Emhotofapf  of  J 

ktafhm^E^duOctoneflkeGorpeU.  .  <wnw/,  voL  10,  p.  85, 

M.  i-ir.es.  Tv  .'  .mtnt  in  ike  Twemlidk  Century,  bk.  i,  chap,  n. 

tt,  The  Kingdom,  and  the  Mariak.  A.  SdtwaUtr  H  «j 

■.imfdom  of  God. 
■x  example,  "That  ye  nay  he  sons  of  your  Father  who  » in  }. 

man  ean  serve  two  master  r/od  and  mammon";  "For  where 

h,  there  wiQ  tow  heart  be  ah/, 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  79 

be  no  doubt  that  his  passionate  earnestness  and  love  of  men 
would  have  expressed  itself  in  fundamentally  the  same 
ideals,  whatever  the  hopes  had  been  that  determined  their 
particular  form  and  phrasing. 

(2)  The  Jewish  Jehovah,  Lord  of  Hosts,  was  in  his  con- 
ception the  loving  Father  whom  one  or  two  of  the  prophets 
had  pictured;  the  Father,  for  his  thought,  not  only  of  the  na- 
tion but  of  each  individual.  The  word  Abba,  Father,  so 
often  on  his  lips,  was  long  repeated  by  his  disciples.  The  first 
commandment  was  to  love  God;  and  his  life  was  spent  in  the 
constant  sense  of  companionship  with  him.  Every  event 
was  ordered  by  his  will;  "not  a  sparrow  shall  fall  on  the 
ground  without  your  Father."  To  his  anxious,  fearful  friends 
he  cries  out,  "  O  ye  of  little  faith! "  "  Your  heavenly  Father 
knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of  these  things."  This  sense  of  the 
love  of  God  has  been  of  unspeakable  comfort  to  millions  of 
believers,  as  it  must  have  been  to  him ;  and  by  many  it  has 
been  called  the  main  element  in  his  teaching.  Certainly  it 
was  constantly  in  the  background  of  his  thought. 

(3)  Of  his  practical  teaching  the  keynote  was  charity, 
compassion,  the  beauty  of  boundless  forgiveness  and  un- 
limited love.  The  inimitable  parables  of  the  Good  Samar- 
itan and  the  Prodigal  Son,  of  the  Ninety  and  Nine,  and 
the  Lost  Piece  of  Silver,1  are  the  most  famous  of  all  lessons 
on  the  law  of  love.  Those  who  were  to  inherit  the  Kingdom 
were  those  to  whom  the  Messiah  might  say:  "  I  was  an  hun- 
gered and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I  was  thirsty  and  ye  gave  me 
drink;  I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in,  naked  and  ye 
clothed  me;  I  was  sick  and  ye  visited  me,  I  was  in  prison  and 
ye  came  unto  me.  .  .  .  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  2 
The  great  moral  commandment,  according  to  Jesus,  is  to 
"love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself."   Men  must  not  allow  them- 

1  Luke  10:  30-37;  14:  8-22.   Matt.  18:  12-14.  2  Matt.  25:  35-40. 


80  HISTORICAL 

selves  to  be  angry  with  one  another;  they  are  to  interrupt 
even  a  sacrifice  to  be  reconciled;  they  are  to  forgive  one  an- 
other not  only  seven  times  but  "  seventy  times  seven  times"; 
they  are  not  to  judge  others,  but  — "  cast  out  first  the  beam 
that  is  in  thine  own  eye."  "Blessed  are  the  merciful"  and 
"the  peacemakers,"  he  said,  and  bade  men  love  even  their 
enemies.  When  they  made  a  feast  they  were  to  invite  not 
their  rich  neighbors,  who  could  requite  their  favor,  but  "  the 
poor,  the  maimed,  the  lame,  the  blind  .  .  .  because  they  have 
not  wherewith  to  recompense  thee."  His  method  with  sin- 
ners was  not  that  of  sternness,  but  the  awakening  of  the  better 
nature  in  them;  his  heart  went  out  to  them  and  he  had  com- 
passion on  them.  "  The  Son  of  man  came  to  save  that  which 
was  lost,"  he  said;  and  of  the  repentant  harlot  who  anointed 
his  feet,  "Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven;  for  she 
loved  much."  At  the  end,  on  the  cross,  in  the  agony  of 
death,  he  uttered  those  immortal  words:  "Father,  forgive 
them,  they  know  not  what  they  do." 

j  (4)  Next  to  the  love  and  compassion  in  Jesus'  teaching  we 
are  struck  by  its  purity,  its  unworldliness,  and  spiritual 
aspiration.  "A  man's  life,"  we  are  told,  "consisteth  not  in 
the  abundance  of  things  which  he  possesseth,"  but  is  an  in- 
ward thing.  All  worldly  pleasures  and  lusts  that  choke  the 
higher  life  must  be  given  up.  Men  must  become  simple- 
hearted  as  children;  "  of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  little  ones  they  brought  him  to  bless. 
The  purity  must  be  genuine  and  inward,  not  a  mere  observ- 
ance of  the  letter  of  the  law.  "  Hear  ye  all  of  you  and  under- 
stand," he  proclaimed;  "there  is  nothing  from  without  the 
man  that  going  into  him  can  defile  him;  but  the  things  which 
proceed  out  of  the  man  are  those  that  defile  the  man."  But 
this  was  in  no  spirit  of  laxity.  On  the  contrary,  he  enjoined 
upon  his  disciples  that  their  righteousness  "exceed  the 
righteousness  of  the  scribes  and  Pharisees."  They  must  not 


JESUS  THE  CHRIST  81 

only  not  commit  murder,  but  not  even  be  angry  with  their 
brothers ;  not  only  refrain  from  adultery,  but  from  looking  at  a 
woman  lustfully;  love  not  only  their  neighbors,  but  their  en- 
emies. They  must  pluck  out  an  eye  or  cut  off  a  hand  that  stood 
in  the  way  of  their  duty;  they  must  seek  first  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven,  and  be  content  with  nothing  less  than  perfection. 

These  are  the  things  that  make  Jesus  a  great  spiritual 
teacher  —  his  constant  emphasis  on  the  spirit  of  love  and 
forgiveness,  his  intense  aspiration  for  perfection  and  readi- 
ness to  thrust  aside  anything  that  stood  in  the  way,  the  di- 
rectness with  which  he  probed  to  the  bottom  of  the  heart  and 
demanded  not  only  the  outward  form  of  goodness,  but  pur- 
ity of  thought  and  motive.  He  required  no  allegiance  to 
any  creed,  he  enjoined  no  observances  on  his  followers,  he 
founded  no  organization;  he  taught  a  Way  of  life,  a  way 
through  which  millions  of  his  followers,  of  many  races  and 
constantly  varying  forms  of  belief,  have  come  to  inward 
harmony,  purity,  and  peace. 

O.  Holtzmann,  Life  of  Jesus.  A.  Neumann,  Jesus.  W.  Bousset, 
Jesus.  A.  Reville,  Vie  de  Jesus.  G.  H.  Gilbert,  Jesus.  J.  War- 
schauer,  Jesus,  Seven  Questions.  A.  Schweitzer,  Quest  of  the  Histor- 
ical Jesus.  S.  J.  Case,  Historicity  of  Jesus.  C.  F.  Kent,  Life  and 
Teachings  of  Jesus.  C.  G.  Montefiore,  Religious  Teachings  of  Jesus. 
J.  E.  Carpenter,  The  Historical  Jesus  and  the  Theological  Christ. 
B.  H.  Streeter,  The  Historic  Christ,  in  Foundations  (The  Macmillan 
Company,  1913).  M.  Jones,  The  Neio  Testament  in  the  Twentieth 
Century,  pt.  i,  chaps,  ii-iv.  G.  B.  Foster,  Finality  of  the  Christian 
Religion,  chaps,  vm-ix.  W.  Rauschenbuseh,  Christianity  and  the 
Social  Crisis,  chap.  n.  T.  R.  Glover,  Conflict  of  Religions  in  the 
Early  Roman  Empire,  chap.  iv.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap,  viii, 
sees.  1-41.  H.  C.  King,  Ethics  of  Jesus.  B.  ^Y.  Bacon,  Christianity 
Old  and  New,  iv.  H.  Sturt,  Idea  of  a  Free  Church,  chap.  v.  Weinel 
and  Widgery,  Jesus  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  and  After.  Hibbert 
Journal,  vol.  5,  p.  136;  vol.  10,  p.  766.  American  Journal  of  Theology, 
vol.  18,  p.  225.    Biblical  World,  vol.  43,  pp.  75,  238. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH 

How  did  the  Christian  Church  originate? 

Naturally  enough,  in  spite  of  Christ's  specific  assurances, 
his  disciples  were  upset  at  his  execution  and  scattered,  in 
alarm  for  their  own  safety.1  Then  they  waited  in  intense 
expectation  for  the  speedy  return  which  he  had  promised. 
It  seems  to  have  been  Peter,  ardent  and  impetuous,  first  to 
hail  Jesus  as  Messiah,  who  now  first  had  the  experience 
which  to  him  at  least  was  convincing  proof  that  Jesus  was 
still  living  and  about  to  fulfill  his  promise  of  a  glorious  ad- 
vent from  the  heavens.  Peter  had  lost  his  nerve  at  his  Mas- 
ter's arrest,  had  denied  that  he  knew  him,  and  fled  to  his 
Galilean  home.  But  Jesus  had  rested  his  hopes  in  him  not  in 
vain  —  "Simon,  Simon,  behold,  Satan  asked  to  have  thee 
.  .  .  but  I  made  supplication  for  thee,  that  thy  faith  fail  not ; 
and  do  thou,  when  once  thou  hast  turned  again,  stablish  thy 
brethren."  2  So  there,  amid  the  scenes  that  so  poignantly 
spoke  to  his  heart  of  the  beloved  Master,  there  came  to  him 
we  know  not  what  experience;  there,  at  any  rate,  the  resur- 
rection-faith, which  rested  originally  upon  Christ's  promise, 
received  its  first  corroboration.3 

Paul,  who  is  by  many  years  our  earliest  witness,  mentions, 
after  the  "appearance"  to  Peter,  one  "to  the  Twelve," 
then  "  to  above  five  hundred  brethren  at  once,"  then  "  to 

1  Cf.  Mark  14:27-28.  16:7.  Matt.  26:32;  28:7-10.  There  are  other 
indications. 

2  Luke  22:31-32. 

3  Paul  puts  the  appearance  to  Peter  first.  And  there  are  many  other 
indications. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         83 

James,"  then  "to  all  the  apostles,"  "and  last  of  all  he  ap- 
peared to  me  also."  1  Of  none  of  these  other  "  appearances  " 
have  we  any  description ;  of  his  own  experience,  which  he  in- 
cludes with  the  others  as  of  the  same  nature,  these  are  his  only 
further  words  —  "It  was  the  good  pleasure  of  God  to  reveal 
his  Son  in  me,  that  I  might  preach  him  among  the  Gentiles"; 
and  "  Have  I  not  seen  Jesus  our  Lord?  " 2  But  the  three  descrip- 
tions of  Paul's  experience  in  Luke,  though  they  may  date 
from  as  much  as  sixty  years  after  the  event,  and  are,  indeed, 
in  several  particulars  flatly  contradictory  to  one  another, 
are  no  doubt  correct  in  their  general  picture  of  the  scene.3 
It  is  quite  possible  that  all  or  some  of  the  other  experiences 
may  have  been  described  in  the  original  ending  of  Mark's 
Gospel,  long  since  lost.  But  we  can  now  be  certain  of  little 
beyond  the  fact  that  a  few  of  the  faithful  were  assured  that 
Jesus  had  been  "revealed  in  them,"  and  that  the  conviction 
rapidly  spread;  so  that,  as  Tacitus  says,  the  propaganda, 
temporarily  repressed,  burst  forth  again.4 

1  The  word  w<pdrj  ("appeared")  was  never  used  of  one  man  in  the  body 
meeting  another.  Jesus  never  "appeared"  to  any  one  before  his  death. 
The  word  was  used  for  visions  of  super-earthly  Beings.  Angels  "appeared" 
in  dreams,  etc. 

2  1  Cor.  15:5-8.   Gal.  1:  11-17.    1  Cor.  9:1. 

3  Acts  9: 1-9;  22:  5-13;  26:  12-20.  Luke  is  a  rather  unreliable  historian, 
as  we  see  by  comparing  so  many  of  his  accounts  with  Paul's  briefer,  but  of 
course  vastly  more  reliable,  —  because  first-hand,  —  statements. 

The  scene  in  Acts,  chap.  2,  though  it  is  certainly  in  many  respects  unhis- 
torical  (e.g.,  Luke  quite  misconceives  the  phenomenon  of  "speaking  with 
tongues,"  whose  real  nature  we  can  clearly  apprehend  in  Paul's  letters.  And 
the  setting  of  the  scene  in  Jerusalem,  in  line  with  his  view  as  to  the  seat  of 
the  earliest  church,  in  contradiction  to  the  convergence  of  evidence  that  the 
early  propaganda  was  in  Galilee,  throws  suspicion  upon  the  whole  story),  may 
be  an  echo  of  Paul's  "appearance"  "to  above  five  hundred  brethren  at 
once.''  Such  collective  visions,  ecstasies,  or  inspirations,  are  not  uncom- 
mon in  religious  history. 

4  Repressaque  in  prcesens  exitiaUlis  superstitio  rursum  erumpebat.  (An- 
nals, xv,  44.) 

The  stories  at  the  end  of  our  Gospels  are  so  late  in  origin,  so  confused  and 
mutually  contradictory,  so  out  of  line  with  Paul's  allusions  and  with  all 


84  HISTORICAL 

The  new  faith,  communicated  from  the  little  band  of  ec- 
static believers  in  Galilee,  spread  here  and  there  throughout 
Judea,  and  into  the  surrounding  regions  where  scattered  com- 
munities of  Jews  were  awaiting  the  good  news  of  the  Mes- 
siah's coming.  It  was  in  Antioch,  we  are  told,  that  they  were 
first  called  Christians.  In  the  tenth  chapter  of  "  Matthew  " 
we  have,  apparently,  a  picture  of  that  early  itinerant  preach- 
ing. The  missionaries  went  not  to  the  Gentiles,  but  "to 
the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel."  They  took  no  gold 
or  silver  in  their  purses,  but  trusted  to  charity  for  their  sup- 
port, while  they  spread  the  glorious  tidings  that  the  Messiah 
had  actually  appeared,  in  the  person  of  Jesus,  had  suffered 
and  died,  but  had  burst  the  bonds  of  Sheol  and  was  soon  to 
come  on  the  clouds  of  heaven  to  establish  the  Kingdom. 
When  they  were  persecuted  for  their  blasphemy  in  one  city, 
they  fled  to  the  next,  relying  on  the  Master's  promise  that 
they  should  not  have  gone  through  the  cities  of  Israel  before 
he  would  come.1   Peter  was  the  head  of  the  band;  2  and  his 

inherent  plausibility,  that  they  must  be  pretty  completely  discounted. 
Paul  shows  no  knowledge  of  an  empty  tomb;  Christ's  resurrection,  in  his 
thought,  is  an  emergence  of  his  spirit  "from  the  region  of  the  dead"  (ix 
veKpQv)  — a  spiritual  resurrection  such  as  he  expected  for  all  the  faithful, 
not  a  reanimation  of  the  body  and  rising  from  the  grave.  Indeed,  the  whole 
discussion  in  1  Cor.  15  is  aimed  against  those  who  understood  the  Resur- 
rection to  mean  a  raising  of  the  dead  body  —  the  belief,  in  embryo,  which 
the  Gospel  stories  represent.  Moreover,  it  is  noteworthy  that  Paul  asserts 
that  the  Twelve  were  at  one  with  him  in  his  ideas  on  these  matters  (1  Cor. 
15:11).  Jesus  himself  had  never  predicted  the  emergence  of  his  body  from  the 
grave.  We  must  be  on  guard,  in  reading  the  words  of  Jesus  and  Paul,  against 
reading  back  into  them  the  later  ideas  embodied  in  the  Gospel  endings. 

The  completest  and  most  scholarly  discussion  of  these  matters  in  any 
language,  to  date,  is  C.  R.  Bowen's  Resurrection  in  the  New  Testament.  See 
further,  K.  Lake,  The  Historical  Evidence  for  the  Resurrection  of  Jesus 
Christ.  A.  Reville,  in  New  World,  vol.3,  p.  498.  Monist,  vol.  11,  pp.  1, 
361.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  13,  p.  169.  American  Journal  of 
Religious  Psychology,  vol.  1,  p.  30. 

1  Matt.  10:5-23. 

2  It  is  noteworthy  that  Paul,  after  his  conversion,  went  to  consult  Peter  — 
and  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  see  any  others  of  the  Twelve.  (Gal.  1 :  18-19.) 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING   OF  THE   CHURCH         85 

preaching  may  be  fairly  well  recorded  in  the  passage:  "Ye 
men  of  Israel,  hear  these  words:  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  a  man 
approved  of  God  unto  you  by  mighty  works  and  wonders  and 
signs  .  .  .  this  Jesus  did  God  raise  up,  whereof  we  all  are 
witnesses.  Being  therefore  by  the  right  hand  of  God  exalted, 
and  having  received  of  the  Father  the  promise  of  the  holy 
spirit,  he  hath  poured  forth  this  that  ye  see  and  hear.  .  .  . 
Repent  ye,  and  be  baptized  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  the  Christ, 
unto  the  remission  of  your  sins ;  and  ye  shall  receive  the  gift 
of  the  holy  spirit."  1  Eagerly  they  went  from  house  to 
house,  "preaching  the  Kingdom  of  God,  and  teaching  con- 
cerning the  Lord  Jesus,  the  Christ."  2 

What  are  the  salient  facts  of  Paul's  life  and  personality? 

An  insignificant  Jewish  sect  the  Christians  would  have 
remained,  dwindling  gradually  from  vanishing  hopes,  had 
not  a  second  religious  genius  arisen  at  just  the  right  moment 
to  transform  the  new  faith  from  a  variation  of  Judaism  into 
a  universal  religion.  Christ  had  freed  the  Jewish  religion 
from  its  incubus  of  legalism,  making  it  thus  potentially  uni- 
versal —  as  one  or  two  of  the  prophets  had  done  before  him; 
he  had  even  intimated  that  outsiders  might  be  admitted  to 
the  Kingdom.  But  the  time  had  been  short;  his  preaching, 
and  that  of  his  disciples,  was  to  the  Jews  alone.  The  Grseco- 
Roman  world  had  scarcely  heard  of  this  obscure  Messianic 
propaganda  until  Paul  took  it  up,  colored  it  with  his  marked 
individuality,  and  spread  it  north  and  west.  At  his  death  a 
chain  of  Christian  communities  extended  across  the  Empire 
from  Jerusalem  to  Rome.3 

1  Acts  2:  22:  38.  2  Acts  28:  31. 

3  Paul  was,  indeed,  only  one  of  many  laborers.  We  think  of  him  as  the 
man  who  did  the  work  primarily  because  some  of  his  letters  chanced  to  be 
preserved,  and  because  the  author  of  Acts  emphasizes  his  part.  But  he 
was,  no  doubt,  the  most  brilliant  and  important  of  the  missionaries  to  the 
Gentiles. 


86  HISTORICAL 

Approximately  of  an  age  with  Jesus,  Paul  was  a  man  of 
very  different  stamp.  Born  "  a  Pharisee,  a  son  of  Pharisees," 
in  the  Greek  city  of  Tarsus,  he  unites  in  his  mental  outlook 
the  two  conflicting  currents  of  Hebraism  and  Hellenism. 
"I  advanced  in  the  Jews'  religion,"  he  tells  us,1  "beyond 
many  of  mine  own  age  among  my  countrymen,  being  more 
exceedingly  zealous  for  the  traditions  of  my  fathers."  But 
he  thought  in  Greek,  and  had  some  conversance  with  Greek 
philosophy.  Brought  up  in  a  profligate  city  of  mixed  popu- 
lation, his  view  of  the  natural  life  of  men  is  pessimistic  and 
tinged  with  the  world-weariness  of  contemporary  Roman 
society  —  in  striking  contrast  to  the  village  atmosphere  and 
wholesome  buoyancy  of  Jesus'  early  preaching.  Impetuous, 
headlong,  self-reliant,  obstinate,  fearless,  wrestling  with 
strong  passions,  and  acknowledging  his  own  infirmities,2  he 
lacks  the  Master's  divine  sweetness  and  poise.  His  extant 
letters  are  noticeably  dissimilar  in  style  from  the  recorded 
sayings  of  Jesus;  they  reflect  the  subtleties  of  his  theological 
training,  and  lack  the  Great  Teacher's  simplicity  and  natu- 
ralness. Yet,  in  spite  of  his  darker  temperament,  his  broader 
training,  his  more  complex  and  confused  outlook  upon  life, 
Paul  came  to  be  possessed  by  the  same  serene  and  gentle 
spirit,  which  he  humbly  confessed  to  be  not  of  his  own  origi- 
nation, but  the  spirit  of  Christ  living  again  in  him.3 

The  crisis  in  his  career  came  at  the  age  of  about  thirty- 
five,  a  few  years  after  the  death  of  Jesus.  He  had  come  to 
Jerusalem  too  late  to  see  him  in  the  flesh,  and  learned  of  him 
at  first  only  through  the  prejudiced  reports  of  his  Pharisaic 
brethren.  The  little  band  of  disciples  in  the  capital  added  to 
their  blasphemy,  in  giving  the  sacred  Messianic  title  to  an 
unknown  provincial  peasant,  the  insult  of  glorying  in  his 
ignominious  and  accursed  death  by  crucifixion,  and  the  in- 
fidelity of  laxity  in  obeying  the  traditions  of  Jewish  ortho- 

i  Gal.  1 :  14.  2  Cf.  Rom.  7:  7-25.  3  Cf.,  e.g.,  Gal.  2:  20. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         87 

doxy.  Joining  ardently  in  their  persecution,  Paul's  better 
nature  must  have  been  deeply  affected  by  witnessing  their 
heroism  and  faith  —  as  his  physical  being  shuddered  at  the 
sight  of  Stephen's  blood  and  agonizing  death.  He  presum- 
ably investigated  the  new  cult  more  or  less,  and  must  have 
been  impressed  by  the  nobility  of  Jesus'  sayings,  as  by  the 
radiant  assurance  of  the  believers  —  an  assurance  and  peace 
and  self-mastery  which  he,  in  his  long  struggle  with  himself 
under  the  Law,  had  never  attained.  So  that,  while  he  con- 
tinued obstinately  in  his  persecution,  it  was  "  kicking  against 
the  pricks."  In  this  unstrung  and  inwardly  divided  condi- 
tion, fresh  from  participation  in  the  martyrdom  of  Stephen, 
in  the  heat  and  glare  and  fatigue  of  midday  journeying,  just 
outside  of  Damascus,  he  had  the  vision  which  determined 
his  whole  future  life.  God  then  and  there,  as  he  always  be- 
lieved, "revealed  his  Son  in  him,"  giving  him  thereby  the 
summons  to  believe  on  Jesus  and  to  take  up  the  missionary 
work,  which  he  in  fact  took  up  with  zeal  and  prosecuted 
through  all  dangers  and  tribulations  till  it  brought  him,  in 
his  turn,  to  a  martyr's  death.1 

1  The  important  question  whether  Paul's  experience  (uncertain  in  its 
exact  nature,  but  undoubted  in  its  general  purport)  is  explicable  in  physical 
and  psychological  terms  —  that  is,  came  as  the  natural  result  of  the  influ- 
ences playing  upon  his  peculiar  and  rather  pathological  temperament,  ac- 
cording to  ascertainable  laws  —  cannot  be  settled  by  the  historian.  It 
involves  the  whole  question  of  the  supernatural,  and  must  be  left,  together 
with  the  question  of  the  origin  of  the  resurrection-faith,  and  the  questions 
concerning  the  many  visions  and  miracles  recorded  in  the  Bible  and  else- 
where, to  solution,  if  at  all,  by  the  general  considerations  to  be  discussed  in 
chapter  xvm.  If  we  believe  at  all  in  the  continued  life  of  Christ,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  conceive  of  some  means,  whether  telepathic  or  more  ordinary,  or 
perhaps  some  channel  not  yet  known  to  us,  whereby  he  may  have  touched 
and  kindled  the  mind  of  Paul  —  and  the  minds  of  many  disciples  before  and 
since.  On  the  other  hand,  psychology  has  done  so  much  in  recent  years  to 
bring  within  the  domain  of  the  natural  the  realm  of  visions  and  voices,  and 
the  like,  that  we  cannot  say  that  all  of  these  experiences,  so  indubitably 
objective  to  those  who  have  them,  may  not  be  ultimately  shown  to  be 
purely  subjective.    Paul,  as  we  know  from  his  own  pen,  was  subject  to 


88  HISTORICAL 

The  essence  of  Paul's  conversion  was  his  conviction  that 
Jesus  was,  indeed,  the  awaited  Messiah.  Back  to  Jerusalem 
he  eventually  went,  to  confer  with  the  heads  of  the  Chris- 
tian community  and  learn  what  he  could  of  Jesus.1  He  sel- 
dom referred,  however,  —  we  judge  from  his  letters,  —  to 
Christ's  words  or  to  the  events  of  his  earthly  life,  save  to  the 
Last  Supper  and  the  Crucifixion,  which  came  to  have  for  him 
a  symbolic  meaning.  Frankly,  he  found  little  material  in 
the  humble  earthly  career  of  the  Master  for  his  propaganda; 
what  he  did  was  rather  to  keep  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  con- 
ception of  the  Messiah  which  had  been  formed  in  him  by  his 
Jewish  training,  with  the  simple  but  all-important  change 
that  this  Messiah  had  appeared  for  a  brief  preliminary  so- 
journ upon  earth,  had  returned  to  heaven,  and  was  about  to 
descend  again  for  the  great  Day  of  Judgment.  Paul  always 
regarded  his  own  gospel  as  directly  inspired  by  the  risen 
Christ,  and  felt  no  need  of  limiting  himself  to  a  repetition 
of  the  preaching  of  the  earthly  Jesus  or  of  the  Twelve.  He 
was,  no  doubt,  far  better  educated  than  they,  and  highly  in- 
dividual in  his  ideas.  He  carved  out  his  own  path,  and  stuck 
to  it  until  he  had  moulded  the  future  of  the  nascent  religion 
along  the  lines  of  his  own  profound  and  daring  genius. 

For  fifteen  years  or  so  he  preached  in  the  villages  of  Syria 
and  Cilicia,  to  the  Jewish  residents  mostly,  but  also  to  such 
Gentiles  as  had  come  somewhat  under  the  influence  of  Jew- 
ish thought  and  would  listen.  Of  the  latter  he  did  not  re- 
quire obedience  to  the  intricate  requirements  of  the  Law  — 
an  obedience  which  they  would  doubtless  never  have  given. 

visions  and  trances;  and  his  experience  must  certainly  be  judged  side  by  side 
with  the  many  thousands  of  similar  experiences  of  Christian  and  non- 
Christian  saints. 

For  discussion  of  Paul's  conversion,  see  B.  W.  Bacon's  Story  of  St.  Paul, 
ad  loc,  and  American  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  vol.  1,  p.  1-M. 

1  Not  till  after  three  years,  however,  and  then  but  for  a  fortnight,  con- 
ferring with  two  apostles  only.   So  he  vigorously  asserts  in  Gal.  1 :  15-18. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         89 

This  laxity  aroused  a  protest  from  the  stricter  Jewish  Chris- 
tians, which  resulted  in  Paul's  finally  being  summoned  to 
Jerusalem  to  explain.  But  he  had  had  time  to  accomplish 
results;  the  same  gifts  of  the  Spirit  which  attested  the  truth 
of  the  preaching  of  the  Twelve  had  appeared  among  his 
converts.  The  apostles  were  impressed,  and  granted  him 
official  permission  to  convert  the  Gentiles  without  requiring 
obedience  to  the  Law.  Later,  in  Antioch,  a  sharp  difference 
of  opinion  arose  on  a  related  point,  and  Paul  broke  with 
Peter  and  the  other  pillar-apostles  —  a  breach  which 
weighed  heavily  on  his  spirit,  so  that  he  ever  after  looked 
wistfully  forward  to  its  healing,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he 
refused  to  back  down  or  compromise.1  Paul  alone  had  heard 
the  call  of  the  great  world  outside  of  Jewry  —  the  call  sym- 
bolized in  the  "  Come  over  and  help  us  "  of  the  Man  of  Mace- 
donia of  his  dream;  in  his  vision  Christianity  was  already  a 
bigger  thing  than  Judaism  had  ever  been  or  could  become. 
And  he  well  knew  that  the  intolerable  and  needless  burden 
of  the  Law  must  be  definitely  laid  aside  if  the  faith  was  to 
capture  the  hearts  of  the  wider  circle  of  needy  men  and 
women  toward  whom  he  yearned. 

He  turned  his  face  westward  then;  and  the  next  half- 
dozen  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  incessant  preaching 
tours,  through  Asia  Minor  and  the  Balkan  Peninsula,  with 
his  headquarters  for  long  at  Corinth  and  Ephesus.  Finally 
he  determined  to  penetrate  to  Rome  itself,  where  others  had 
already  started  a  church,  and  on  beyond  to  Spain.  But  first 
he  would  take  to  the  apostles  at  Jerusalem,  as  a  peace-offer- 
ing, a  great  contribution  of  alms  for  the  poor  there  from  his 

1  The  question  at  Jerusalem  had  been,  May  Gentiles  become  Christians 
without  obeying  the  Jewish  law?  The  decision  had  been,  Yes.  The  ques- 
tion at  Antioch  was,  Are  these  Gentile  Christians  "clean,"  so  that  Jewish 
Christians  may  eat  and  associate  with  them?  Paul  said,  Yes;  James  said, 
No.  Peter  first  sided  with  Paul,  but  was  won  over,  together  with  Barnabas, 
by  James. 


90  HISTORICAL 

infant  churches.  He  made  his  way  to  Jerusalem;  and  what 
the  reception  of  his  offering  was  we  are  not  informed.  But 
we  learn  that  he  was  set  upon  by  the  Jews,  in  whose  eyes  he 
was  an  arch-traitor,  was  tried  by  the  local  Roman  official, 
appealed  to  Csesar,  and  was  sent  to  the  Rome  of  his  dreams 
as  a  prisoner.  There  he  had  relative  freedom  for  a  year 
or  two  to  preach,  —  though  under  constant  guard,  —  but 
finally  came  to  trial,  and,  according  to  tradition,  was  exe- 
cuted, at  the  age  of  sixty  or  a  little  over,  —  leaving  behind 
him  a  group  of  churches  growing  yearly  in  numbers,  and 
eight  or  ten  hasty  but  precious  letters,  which  have  carried 
the  fire  of  his  eager  and  indomitable  spirit  down  through  the 
Church  of  nineteen  centuries. 

What  was  the  gist  of  Paul's  teaching? 

There  is  much  in  Paul's  letters,  we  must  confess,  which  is 
obscure,  and  not  a  little  that  is  grotesque,  alien  to  our  mod- 
ern thought,  and  even  repellent.  Most  or  all  of  this  is  due  to 
the  survival  in  his  thoughts  of  pre-Christian  conceptions; 
the  ingenious  rabbinical  arguments  of  contemporary  Jewish 
theology,  blending  with  the  expression  of  his  own  first-hand 
and  glowing  Christian  experience,  have  caused  endless  trou- 
ble to  the  devout  ever  since.1  His  love  of  theorizing,  never 
systematic,  but  always  positive  and  dogmatic,  is  largely 
responsible  for  the  creedal  yoke  which  the  Church  has  so 
long  borne.  Christ's  teaching  had  been  almost  exclusively 
practical;  Christian  theology  has  rested  rather  upon  Paul's 
very  hasty  and  occasional  utterances.   Paul  was  not  really  a 

1  Cf.  the  quibbling  in  Gal.  3 :  16;  the  argument  is  as  absurd  in  the  original 
as  in  English.  And  the  superstitious  survivals  in  1  Cor.  11:7, 10.  (To  under- 
stand the  latter  verse,  see  Gen.  6 :  1-4.)  Far-fetched  and  absurd  exegesis 
of  the  Scriptures,  in  true  rabbinical  style,  is  common:  cf.  Gal.  4:  21-31. 
2  Cor.  3:  12-15.  1  Cor.  9:  8-11;  10:  1-11.  Rom.  9:22-25.  His  belief  in  the 
preexistence  of  the  Messiah,  and  his  vivid  portrayal  of  the  coming  Judg- 
ment Day,  are  contemporary  Jewish  elements;  etc.,  etc. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         91 

great  thinker;  his  merit  lies  rather  in  his  eloquent  and  per- 
sonal expression  of  the  new  spirit,  the  redeemed  and  spiritual 
life,  which  had  replaced  in  him  the  restless  and  vacillating 
life  of  his  youth,  and  in  the  practical  work  which  he  accom- 
plished. His  theorizing  is  highly  polemical  and  pragmatic, 
determined  and  developed  by  the  exigencies  of  the  contro- 
versies into  which  he  was  forced,1  and  by  no  means  self- 
consistent  or  central  in  his  teaching.  Yet,  by  one  of  the 
ironies  of  history,  these  concepts,  and  this  very  language, 
have  determined  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  whole  course 
of  modern  theology. 

It  is  easy  enough,  however,  to  separate  the  gold  from  the 
dross;  and  it  is  gold  of  fine  quality.  We  will  summarize  the 
most  significant  notes  in  Paul's  teaching:  — 

(1)  The  core  of  it  was  the  profound  doctrine  of  Salvation 
by  Faith.  In  his  own  experience  he  had  learned  the  futility 
of  the  Law,  its  powerlessness  to  quicken  the  inner  springs  of 
conduct;  all  his  youth  he  had  battled  in  vain  with  his  pas- 
sionate nature  in  the  attempt  to  keep  true  to  its  innumerable 
prescriptions.  But  in  the  ardor  of  his  new  faith  he  found  him- 
self able  to  rise  above  his  sins;  the  communion  with  Christ, 
which  was  so  real  to  him,  filled  him  with  a  new  spirit,  made 
him  over  from  a  carnal  to  a  spiritual  man,  so  that,  overcom- 
ing evil  with  good,  as  he  phrased  it,  he  no  longer  cared  for 
the  fleshly  things  that  had  once  held  him  down.  This  saving 
faith  was  not  an  assent  of  the  intellect,  it  was  an  allegiance 
of  the  heart,  a  full  and  happy  loyalty,  that  made  the  endless 
injunctions  of  Jewish  casuistry  seem  needless  and  petty. 
Moreover,  the  Master  himself  had  cared  little  for  these  out- 
ward rules  and  conformities  and  had  preached  a  gospel  of 

1  His  insistence  on  faith,  e.g.,  was  a  necessary  counter  to  the  zeal  of  the 
Jewish  Christians  for  the  Law.  The  exalted  Christology  of  Colossians  and 
Ephesians  (which  many  students  think,  however,  to  be  not  genuinely 
Pauline)  was  a  counter  to  the  Gnostic  depreciation  of  Christ's  position. 


92  HISTORICAL 

freedom.  And  the  Gentiles  to  whom  Paul  preached  would 
never  accept  the  yoke  of  the  Law;  the  simpler  way  was  that 
to  which  all  the  practical  needs  of  his  mission  drew  him.  So 
it  is  natural  that  he  should  have  felt  a  rush  of  scorn  for  all 
that  older  religious  machinery,  and  bidden  his  converts 
"  stand  fast  in  the  freedom  wherewith  Christ  hath  set  us  free, 
and  not  be  entangled  again  in  the  yoke  of  bondage."  As  he 
had  found  the  power  of  a  better  life  born  in  him  at  his  con- 
version, had  felt  himself  saved,  cleansed  from  his  burden  of 
sin,  and  endowed  with  a  new  spirit,  so  —  there  being  nothing 
peculiarly  Jewish  in  the  experience  —  they  might  hope,  by 
opening  their  hearts  to  Christ's  spirit  and  letting  it  domi- 
nate them,  to  rise  into  the  redeemed  life  and  become  heirs 
of  the  promises.1 

(2)  This  was  no  invitation  to  laxity.  On  the  contrary,  it 
involved  a  complete  renunciation  of  the  unregenerate  life; 
when  Christ  lived  in  the  believer  he  would  no  longer  care  for 
the  lusts  of  the  flesh.  To  Paul,  Christ's  death  had  a  deep 
symbolic  meaning;  the  preaching  of  the  Cross  was,  practi- 
cally, an  invitation  to  die  to  the  old  life  and  rise  with  Christ 
to  the  new.  Instead  of  the  Hellenic  ideals  of  culture  and 
moderation,  which  had  proved  ineffective  against  the  temp- 
tations to  cruelty  and  lust,  Paul  demanded  an  absolute  turn- 
about. "Be  not  fashioned  according  to  this  world,"  he 
wrote,  "but  be  ye  transformed  by  the  renewing  of  your 
mind  .  .  .  always  bearing  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of 
Jesus,  that  the  life  also  of  Jesus  may  be  manifested  in  our 
body."  "Put  to  death,  therefore,  your  earthly  impulses  — 
fornication,  uncleanness,  passion,  evil  desire,  and  covetous- 
ness  .  .  .  anger,  wrath,  malice,  railing,  shameful  speaking 
out  of  your  mouth ;  lie  not  to  one  another;  seeing  that  ye  have 
put  off  the  old  man  with  his  doings  and  have  put  on  the  new 

1  For  further  discussion  of  salvation  by  faith,  see  below,  pp.  172- 
73;  180-86. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         93 

man."    "Abhor  that  which  is  evil,  cleave  to  that  which  is 
good."  1 

(3)  But  with  all  this  stern  and  high  summons  to  men 
there  is  mingled  the  caritas,  the  tender,  ministering  love, 
which  he  owned  as  Christ's  work  in  him  and  so  memorably 
eulogized  in  the  poetic  phrases  of  1  Cor.  13.  He  is  usually 
very  patient  with  his  weak  and  troublesome  flock,  admonish- 
ing them  gently,  and  picturing  for  them  the  beauty  of  the  life 
of  mutual  helpfulness  and  affection.  "  Bear  ye  one  another's 
burdens,"  he  wrote,  "and  so  fulfill  the  law  of  Christ."  "In 
love  of  the  brethren  be  tenderly  affectioned  one  to  another 
.  .  .  bless  them  that  persecute  you,  bless  and  curse  not.  .  .  . 
Render  to  no  man  evil  for  evil  .  .  .  but  if  thine  enemy  hun- 
ger, feed  him;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  to  drink."  "Let  no  man 
seek  his  own,  but  each  his  neighbor's  good."  "For  the  whole 
law  is  fulfilled  in  one  word,  even  in  this :  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself."  "Put  on,  therefore,  as  God's  elect, 
holy  and  beloved,  a  heart  of  compassion,  kindness,  humility, 
meekness,  long-suffering;  forbearing  one  another,  and  for- 
giving each  other,  if  any  man  have  a  complaint  against  any ; 
even  as  the  Lord  forgave  you,  so  also  do  ye.  And  above  all 
these  things  put  on  love,  which  is  the  bond  of  perfectness." 
"  For  even  as  we  have  many  members  in  one  body,  and  all 
the  members  have  not  the  same  office;  so  we,  who  are 
many,  are  one  body  in  Christ  and  severally  members  one  of 
another."2 

(4)  The  regeneration  and  peace  of  the  believers  were  but 
the  pledge  and  foretaste  of  the  glorious  life  in  the  Messianic 
era  about  to  open.  This  present  world  was  soon  "coming  to 
nought,"  the  new  age  at  hand,  wherein  "each  shall  receive 
his  reward  according  to  his  own  labor."  "The  time  is  short, 

1  Rom.  12:  2.   2  Cor.  4: 10.   Col.  3:  5-10.   Rom.  12:  9. 

2  Gal.  6:2.  Rom.  12: 10-20.  1  Cor.  10:24.  Gal.  5:  14.  Col.  3:12-14. 
Rom.  12:4-5. 


94  HISTORICAL 

brethren;  meanwhile,  let  those  that  have  wives  live  as 
though  they  had  none;  those  that  weep  as  though  they  wept 
not;  those  that  rejoice  as  though  they  rejoiced  not;  those  that 
buy  as  though  they  possessed  not;  and  those  that  use  the 
good  things  of  the  world,  let  them  use  them  sparingly;  for 
this  manner  of  world  soon  passeth  away."  "Now  we  see  as 
in  a  mirror,  darkly;  but  then,  face  to  face."  'We  shall  not 
all  die,  but  we  shall  all  be  transformed,  in  a  moment,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  at  the  last  trumpet-call;  for  the  trum- 
pet will  sound,  and  the  dead  will  rise  incorruptible,  and  we 
shall  be  transformed."  "  We  that  are  left  alive  unto  the  com- 
ing of  the  Lord  shall  by  no  means  precede  those  that  have 
died.  For  the  Lord  himself  shall  descend  from  heaven,  with 
a  shout,  with  the  voice  of  the  archangel,  and  with  the  trum- 
pet of  God;  and  those  that  have  died  in  the  faith  shall  first 
rise;  then  we  who  are  still  alive  shall  together  with  them  be 
caught  up  into  the  clouds,  to  meet  the  Lord  in  the  air;  and 
so  shall  we  forevermore  be  with  the  Lord."  "  But  concerning 
the  exact  time,  brethren,  you  have  no  need  that  aught  be 
written  you.  For  you  know  perfectly  that  the  day  of  the 
Lord  is  to  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  When  they  are  say- 
ing, Peace  and  safety,  then  sudden  destruction  is  to  come 
upon  them,  as  travail  upon  a  woman  with  child;  and  they 
shall  in  no  wise  escape.  But  ye,  brethren,  are  not  in  dark- 
ness, that  that  day  should  overtake  you  like  a  thief;  ...  so 
then  ...  let  us  watch  and  be  sober."  And  later  in  his  min- 
istry, "Salvation  is  now  nearer  us  than  when  we  first  be- 
lieved.  The  night  is  far  spent  and  the  day  is  at  hand."  l 

This  pathetic  hope  of  a  supernaturally  transformed 
earthly  life,  derived  from  contemporary  Jewish  anticipa- 
tions, and  shared,  evidently,  by  Jesus  himself,  was  destined, 

1  1  Cor.  2:  6;  3:8;  7:  29-31;  13:  12;  15:  51-52.  1  Thess.  4:  15  to  5:  8. 
Rom.  13:  11-12. 


PAUL  AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  CHURCH         95 

in  the  nature  of  things,  soon  to  pass  away  —  or  rather  to  be 
transformed  into  the  hope  of  future  life  in  an  unseen  heav- 
enly realm.  But  the  eagerness  and  consolation  of  this  prim- 
itive Christian  hope  can  hardly  be  imagined  by  us,  in  our 
soberer  world.  Naive  and  illusory  as  it  was,  it  gave  an  im- 
mense stimulus  to  that  life  of  faith,  that  new  dedication  of 
the  soul,  that  crucifixion  of  the  fleshly  life  and  happy  es- 
pousal of  the  Christ-life,  which  made  Paul's  little  churches 
the  source  of  so  much  that  is  best  in  our  modern  life. 

H.  Weinel,  St.  Paul,  the  Man  and  His  Work.  W.  Wrede,  Paul 
A.  Schweitzer,  Paid  and  His  Interpreters.  J.  Moffatt,  Paul  and 
Paulinism.  C.  Clemen,  Paulus.  B.  W.  Bacon,  Story  of  St.  Paul; 
Founding  of  the  Church.  A.  Sabatier,  Apostle  Paid.  P.  Gardner, 
Religious  Experience  of  St.  Paul.  A.  Deissmann,  St.  Paul.  E.  R. 
Wood,  Life  and  Ministry  of  Paul.  C.  C.  Everett,  Gospel  of  Paul. 
M.  Arnold,  St.  Paul  and  Protestantism.  J.  R.  Cohn,  St.  Paid  in  the 
Light  of  Modern  Research.  K.  Lake,  Earlier  Epistles  of  St.  Paul. 
C.  von  Weizsacker,  Apostolic  Age,  vol.  I,  p.  79/.  R.  Scott,  Pauline 
Epistles.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap,  vni,  sees.  42-69.  Hibberi 
Journal,  vol.  10,  p.  45.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  14, 
p.  361.  Neiv  World,  vol.  8,  p.  Ill;  vol.  9,  p.  49.  Constructive  Quar* 
terly,  vol.  1,  p.  163.   Biblical  World,  vol.  44,  p.  375. 


CHAPTER  VII 

EARLY  CHRISTIANITY 

What  were  the  causes  of  the  triumph  of  Christianity? 

The  times  were  ripe  for  the  new  faith.  The  old  pagan  reli- 
gions had  waned  and  were  taken  lightly  or  openly  disbelieved. 
The  Roman  Empire  was  corrupt  to  the  core;  the  virtue  and' 
austerity  that  made  Rome  what  it  was  had  given  way  to 
extremes  of  bestiality  and  lust.  A  loss  of  hope  in  human 
effort,  a  despair  of  the  natural  sources  of  happiness,  a  revul- 
sion from  the  wantonness  of  the  age,  led  to  a  lapse  of  patriot- 
ism and  a  hunger  for  individual  salvation,  for  some  super- 
natural personal  assurance  and  guidance.  The  best  men 
found  a  modicum  of  happiness  in  fleeing  from  the  world  and 
living  a  life  of  Stoic  self-containment.  Just  as  among  the 
Hindus,  centuries  before,  the  need  was  for  a  religion  of  de- 
liverance. Any  number  of  salvation-cults  were  introduced; 
none  was  so  simple,  so  full  of  hope,  so  beautiful  in  the  pure 
and  brotherly  life  of  its  adherents,  as  this  Christianity  that 
Paul  and  his  followers  taught.  It  caught  men's  imaginations 
and  spread  with  marvellous  rapidity. 

(1)  The  sweetness  of  consolation  that  it  offered  needs 
no  comment.  The  great  loving  Father-God  had  sent  his 
Anointed  One  to  earth  to  announce  his  plan  for  men;  a  glori- 
ous future  awaited  them  if  they  would  but  believe  and  trust 
in  him;  this  Divine  Man  had  suffered,  just  as  they  had  to 
suffer;  all  was  intended  and  right  and  paved  the  way  to  a 
great  consummation.  A  new  value  was  at  once  added  to  life; 
its  accidents  became  unimportant  in  the  light  of  the  future, 
Christ,  the  Good  Shepherd,  came  closer  to  the  heart  than  the 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  97 

Jewish  Jehovah,  and  far  closer  than  the  cold  and  impersonal 
God  of  Greek  philosophy,  —  offering  a  more  intimate  per- 
sonal relationship  and  a  more  assured  hope  in  the  beyond. 

(2)  Linked  with  this  great  hope,  and  its  witness,  was  the 
New  Life,  which  was  itself  a  redemption  from  the  vanity  and 
sin  of  the  existing  order.  Instead  of  self-assertion  and  pride 
of  power,  which  were  virtues  to  the  ancients,  the  new  teach- 
ing enjoined  patience,  humility,  purity,  simplicity  of  heart 
—  a  spirit  almost  new  to  the  pagan  world.  The  primitive 
church  was  an  intimate  brotherhood,  caring  for  the  poor  and 
the  weak  in  its  membership,  and  including  women  in  its 
regard,  —  as  the  cult  of  Mithras,  which  bade  fair  to  be  its 
most  dangerous  rival,  did  not.1 

(3)  Christianity  also  had  an  advantage  in  its  attachment 
to  a  definite  historic  person.  Mithras,  and  the  other  gods 
that  competed  for  popular  favor,  were  mythical  beings 
whose  reality  it  was  possible  for  the  sophisticated  to  doubt; 
Christ  had  but  lately  been  seen  on  earth,  as  any  one  could 
prove.  And  all  the  historic  background  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, which  Christianity  took  over,  helped  to  give  it  an 
atmosphere  of  actuality  lacking  to  the  other  Oriental  cults. 
"  It  had  its  roots  in  a  national  faith,  moulded  by  the  trials 
and  passions  of  a  singularly  religious  people;  that  connection 
with  Judaism  gave  Christianity  a  foothold  in  history  .  .  . 
which  it  was  a  true  instinct  in  the  Church  never  to  abandon." 2 

1  For  illustrations  of  the  spirit  of  primitive  Christianity  cf.  Lucian  (De 
Morte  Peregrini,  13):  Christians  "spare  no  expense"  in  assisting  one  an- 
other, "for  their  first  legislator  had  persuaded  them  to  believe  that  they 
were  all  brethren  of  one  another."  And  Aristides  {Apology,  15):  "The 
Christians  .  .  .  honor  father  and  mother  and  show  kindness  to  their  neigh- 
bors. ...  If  they  hear  that  one  of  them  is  imprisoned  or  oppressed  on  ac- 
count of  the  name  of  their  Messiah,  all  of  them  care  for  his  necessity;  and 
if  it  is  possible  to  redeem  him,  they  set  him  free.  And  if  any  one  among 
them  is  poor  and  needy,  and  they  have  no  spare  food,  they  fast  two  or  three 
days  in  order  to  supply  him  with  the  needed  food." 

See  E.  A.  Edghill,  The  Spirit  of  Poieer,  passim.   Scott,  chap.  vi. 

2  G.  Santayana,  Poetry  and  Religion,  p.  82. 


98  HISTORICAL 

(4)  Finally,  in  the  energy  and  skill  of  her  propaganda  the 
Christian  Church  outstripped  her  rivals.  She,  almost  alone, 
developed  a  close  and  effective  organization ;  she  alone  of  the 
real  religions  developed  an  elaborate  philosophy  and  fed  the 
intellects  as  well  as  the  hearts  of  her  converts.  The  old 
pagan  religions  had  not  been  proselyters ;  men  grew  up  in 
them  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  seldom  sought  to  convert 
those  whose  allegiance  naturally  belonged  elsewhere.  Be- 
fore the  vigorous  missionary  zeal  of  the  Christians  they 
made  the  resistance  only  of  passive  distrust  or  physical  per- 
secution. So,  in  an  age  of  intellectual  ferment,  the  acute 
polemic  of  the  Church  fathers,  and  their  ingenious  theolo- 
gies, were  effective;  while  in  an  age  of  heart-hunger,  their 
earnest  and  well  organized  missionary  campaigns  made 
startlingly  rapid  headway. 

It  is  small  wonder,  then,  if,  with  the  great  hope  they  pos- 
sessed, and  the  self-forgetting  brotherliness  of  their  life, 
which  was  its  own  reward,  these  Christians  went  about  with 
radiant  faces  and  rejoicing  hearts,  drawing  gradually  to  their 
fold  those  that  labored  and  were  heavy  laden,  seeking  for  the 
rest  that  Christ  had  promised  to  those  who  followed  him. 
"The  consciousness  of  new  loves,  new  duties,  fresh  consola- 
tions, and  luminous  unutterable  hopes  accompanied  them 
wherever  they  went.  They  stopped  willingly  in  the  midst  of 
their  business  for  recollection,  like  men  in  love.  .  .  .  Nothing 
in  this  world  remained  without  reference  to  the  other,  nor 
was  anything  done  save  for  a  supernatural  end."  l 

Under  what  influences  did  the  Church  evolve  her  creeds? 
It  was,  of  course,  not  without  many  struggles,  internal  and 
external,  that  Christianity  in  its  eventual  form  became  dom- 
inant. The  Jewish  Christians  bitterly  opposed  the  admission 
1  G.  Santayana,  Poetry  and  Religion,  pp.  86-87. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  99 

of  Gentiles  to  their  church,  and  Paul  and  his  followers 
worked  between  the  fires  of  Jewish-Christian  opposition  and 
pagan  skepticism.  The  Gentiles  soon  so  outnumbered  the 
Jews  in  the  new  church  that  the  former  difficulty  settled 
itself;  in  70  a.d.,  by  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  the  Jew- 
ish nation  practically  ceased  to  exist,  and  the  intransigent 
Jewish-Christians  came  to  be  considered  heretics,  under  the 
disparaging  name  of  Nazarenes. 

The  resistance  of  paganism  was,  of  course,  much  more  ob- 
stinate; and  the  struggle  lasted  for  centuries.  Intermittently 
persecuted  by  the  State,  but  flourishing  all  the  more  through 
the  faith  and  blood  of  its  martyrs,  the  new  cult  grew  so  stead- 
ily that  by  the  fourth  century  its  adoption  as  the  state  reli- 
gion of  the  fast  disintegrating  Roman  empire  became  politi- 
cally expedient.  Constantine's  conversion  was  doubtless 
more  an  act  of  statesmanship  than  of  religious  conviction. 
The  old  Roman  religion  could  no  longer  command  general 
allegiance;  amid  the  multitude  of  sects  there  was  only  this 
one  that  gave  promise  of  becoming  a  genuinely  uniting  force. 
Christianity  could  not  be  repressed,  the  various  forms  of 
paganism  might  be;  herein  lay  a  new  possibility  for  the  uni- 
fication of  the  Empire.1  A  little  later  the  pure  and  noble 
Emperor  Julian  made  a  last  desperate  attempt  to  stem  the 
rising  tide  of  Christianity  and  put  the  dying  religion  of  his 
fathers  on  its  feet  again.  But  his  few  months'  reign  —  spent 
chiefly  in  the  incessant  wars  of  the  times  —  made  little  im- 
pression ;  and  after  this  final  protest  the  dominance  of  Chris- 
tianity was  never  really  in  question. 

The  pagan  opposition  to  Christianity  had  not  been,  how- 
ever, so  sharp  as  might  be  supposed.  The  new  religion  assimi- 
lated, as  it  spread,  many  of  the  former  beliefs  and  practices 

1  In  a  letter  to  Alexander,  Bishop  of  Alexandria,  he  states  that  his  mo- 
tive was  to  establish  throughout  the  Empire  "some  one  definite  and  com- 
plete form  of  religious  worship." 


100  HISTORICAL 

of  the  people;  and  its  gradually  forming  doctrines  assumed 
shapes  not  unfamiliar  in  many  of  their  aspects.  The  concep- 
tion, for  example,  of  an  incarnated  God,  dying  and  rising 
again,  whose  body  and  blood  were  tasted  by  the  devout  be- 
lievers, resembled  closely  various  prevalent  and  popular 
beliefs.  During  the  centuries  wherein  Christian  belief  was 
still  fluid  and  developing  simultaneously  in  many  different 
directions,  those  variations  that  were  most  in  line  with  the 
antecedent  beliefs  of  the  people  naturally  attracted  their 
sympathy  and  tended  to  win  the  day.  Moreover,  Jesus  was 
a  Jew;  the  Greek-  and  Latin-speaking  peoples  might  trans- 
late and  repeat  his  words,  but  to  them  they  inevitably  had 
different  meanings  and  lent  themselves  to  another  set  of 
ideas.  Habits  of  thought  and  religious  practices  are  not 
easily  transformed;  and  if  the  pagan  world  was  Christian- 
ized, so  also  was  Christianity  paganized.  It  may  be  doubted, 
indeed,  whether  "orthodox"  Christianity  is  not  more  Greek 
than  Hebraic  in  spirit  and  form;  certainly  on  its  theoretical 
side  it  reflects  the  conceptions  of  the  Grneco-Roman  world 
that  accepted,  and  in  accepting  moulded  after  its  own  ways 
of  thinking,  the  still  Jewish  beliefs  of  the  apostles.1 

1  Grant  Showerman  (American  Journal  of  Philology,  vol.  29,  p.  156)  calls 
primitive  Christianity  an  "agency  for  the  ingathering  of  universal  religious 
experience,  and  modern  Christianity  the  heir  to  the  riches  of  all  the  ages." 

Cf.  J.  T.  Shotwell  (The  Religious  Revolution  of  Today,  p.  45):  "We  must 
not  forget  that  Christianity  was  not  all  Christian;  that  it  never  has  been  so. 
It  is,  and  was  from  the  first,  drawn  from  all  antiquity,  and  preserves  for  us 
things  that  were  sacred  untold  ages  before  there  was  a  temple  at  Jerusalem. 
It  was  a  new  consecration  of  consecrated  things.  However  revolutionary  it 
seemed,  it  kept  as  much  of  the  old  regime  as  could  be  applied  in  the  new." 

And  Grant  Allen  (Evolution  of  the  Idea  of  God,  pp.  227,  389):  "At  the 
moment  when  the  Empire  was  cosmopolitanizing  the  world,  Christianity 
began  to  cosmopolitanize  religion,  by  taking  into  itself  whatever  was  cen- 
tral, common,  and  universal  in  the  worship  of  the  peoples  among  whom  it 
originated.  .  .  .  Christianity  triumphed  because  it  united  in  itself  all  the 
most  vital  elements  of  all  the  religions  then  current  in  the  world,  with  little 
that  was  local,  national,  or  distasteful." 

See  also  G.  Friedlander,  Hellenism  and  Christianity.   H.  A.  A.  Kennedy, 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  101 

This  process  of  absorption  and  universalization  could  not, 
to  be  sure,  go  on  too  rapidly  without  evoking  violent  revivals 
of  the  purer  Christian  spirit.  Montanisni  —  the  name  given 
to  a  conservative  reaction  breaking  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
second  century  —  fought  the  growing  Hellenic  tendencies 
in  the  Church  and  sought  to  turn  it  back  to  its  more  primi- 
tive and  Jewish  forms,  particularly  cultivating  the  'gifts  of 
the  spirit"  and  the  naive  belief  in  the  imminent  return  of 
Christ  to  earth.  And  if  it  failed  to  check  the  inevitable 
drift,  on  the  other  hand  the  Hellenization  of  Christianity 
failed  to  eliminate  all  the  naive  and  legendary  elements  of 
the  religion  and  mould  it  into  a  completely  rationalized 
system.  The  prevailing  tendency  was  that  which  retained 
much  of  the  Hebraic  background  and  spirit  —  a  via  media 
between  the  opposing  forces.1 

The  fluidity  and  individualism  of  early  Christianity  re- 
ceived its  first  decisive  check  at  the  Council  of  Nicsea,  which 
drew  up,  in  325  A.D.,  under  the  domination  of  the  just-con- 
verted Emperor  Constantine,  the  first  authoritative  Chris- 

St.  Paul  and  the  Mydery  Religions.  S.  J.  Case,  Evolution  of  Early  Christian- 
ity, chap.  ix.  M.  Jones,  The  New  Testament  in  the  Twentieth  Century,  bk.  i, 
chap.  vn.  H.  Delahaye,  Legends  of  the  Saints,  chap.  vi.  Monist,  vol.  12, 
p.  416#. 

1  The  Gnostic  movement,  termed  by  Harnack  the  "over-acute  Hellen- 
ization of  Christianity,"  should  perhaps  be  mentioned  here.  But  recent 
scholarship  holds  that  Gnosticism  was  not  primarily  an  attempt  to  recon- 
cile Christianity  with  Greek  thought.  It  was  rather  a  pre-Christian  mys- 
tery-religion, deriving  partly  from  Greek  and  partly  from  Oriental  sources, 
which  incorporated  into  its  system  the  historical  Saviour  Jesus,  reverenced 
Paul,  and  became  a  quasi-Christian  sect,  while  retaining  anti-Christian 
ideas,  such  as  a  decided  dualism.  The  Gnostics  for  the  most  part  rejected 
the  Old  Testament  and  the  Jewish  element  in  Christianity.  They  believed 
in  post-apostolic  revelation  to  a  succession  of  prophets,  whence  their  su- 
perior insight,  revelation,  knowledge  (yvwcris:).  They  first  (probably)  im- 
ported the  sacramental  idea  into  Christian  circles;  and  through  the  op- 
position which  they  aroused  they  provoked  the  Church  into  a  firmer 
organization  and  unification  of  creed.  The  best  known  Gnostics  were 
Marcion  and  Valentinus,  who  flourished  in  the  second  century.  See  Bousset 
in  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  (11th  ed.),  Gnosticism. 


102  HISTORICAL 

tian  creed.  Up  to  the  promulgation  of  this  Nicene  creed 
each  church  had  had  its  own  baptismal  formulas;  and  such 
creeds  as  had  been  formulated  were  neither  long  nor  of  gen- 
eral acceptance.  Constantine  was  probably  not  deeply  reli- 
gious by  temperament,  but  he  was  a  good  administrator; 
having  decided  to  make  Christianity  the  state  religion,  he 
wished  its  doctrine  more  exactly  determined.1  And  there 
seemed  an  immediate  necessity  for  some  exercise  of  author- 
ity, in  view  of  the  violent  disputes  current  on  all  sorts  of 
major  and  minor  points  of  doctrine.  It  was  only  after  long 
and  bitter  controversy  that  the  decision  swung  as  it  did. 
And  although  later  creeds  show  considerable  change  of  con- 
viction, it  is  difficult  to  overestimate  the  effect  upon  the  sub- 
sequent course  of  Christian  thought  of  the  conceptions  which 
through  the  prestige  of  this  imperial  church  council  were 
now  imposed  upon  the  Church.2 

The  Athanasian  Creed,  so  called,  is  considerably  later 
than  the  Nicene,  dating  probably  from  the  sixth  century. 
These,  and  the  other  creeds,  bear  the  stamp  of  the  particu- 
lar controversies  which  were  then  raging.  In  an  age  when 
the  centrifugal  forces  within  the  Church  were  great,  and  the 
attacks  upon  it  from  without  multitudinous  and  acute,  it 
was  a  perhaps  justifiable  instinct  of  self-preservation  that 
led  it  to  this  hard  and  fast  definition  of  its  position.  But 
the  result  was  an  arrested  development,  the  formation  of  a 

1  Responsible  as  he  partly  was  for  this  petrification  of  theology  and  im- 
position of  a  creedal  yoke,  he  nevertheless  gave  some  sound  advice  to  the 
disputatious  bishops.  In  the  letter  already  quoted  he  writes,  "  My  advice  is, 
neither  to  ask  nor  answer  questions  which,  instead  of  being  scriptural,  are 
the  mere  sport  of  idleness  or  an  exercise  of  ability;  at  best  keep  them  to 
yourselves  and  do  not  publish  them.    You  agree  in  fundamentals." 

2  The  so-called  Apostles'  Creed  was  considerably  earlier  in  formulation, 
but  does  not  occur  in  its  present  form  before  750  a.d.,  and  was  never  an 
official  creed,  like  the  Nicene  and  later  creeds.  Its  earliest  forms  date,  per- 
haps, from  about  150  a.d.  But  the  tradition  ascribing  its  origin  to  the 
apostles  is  quite  late  and  without  foundation.  Cf.  Harnack  in  Nineteenth 
Century,  vol.  34,  p.  158;  and  the  encyclopaedias. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  103 

crust  of  dogma,  representing  the  conceptions  of  that  intel- 
lectually keen  and  subtle  but  egregiously  unscientific  age, 
which  has  nearly  choked  the  modern  church  and  is  still 
costing  heavy  effort  to  burst. 

Two  historic  movements,  then,  united  in  Christianity.  On 
the  one  hand,  the  deep  religious  fervor  of  the  Jews,  freed  by 
Christ  from  what  was  local  and  unessential,  and  translated 
by  Paul  into  terms  intelligible  to  the  outer  world;  on  the 
other,  the  great  intellectual  movement  of  Greece,  the  meta- 
physical conceptions  that  had  been  developing  from  Plato 
and  Aristotle  into  Neo-Platonism  and  Stoicism.  The  He- 
braic element  brought  undeniably  much  that  persisted  and 
leavened  society.  Yet  when  men  trained  in  contemporary 
philosophy  sought  to  grasp  and  explain  the  mysteries  of  the 
new  faith,  —  which  the  Church  insisted  should  be  accepted 
first  and  understood,  if  possible,  afterwards,  —  they  wan- 
dered far  from  the  original  gospel.  The  transition  from  the 
then  current  Greek  speculation  to  Christian  theology  —  as 
from  pagan  to  Catholic  ritual  —  was  hardly  as  violent  as  the 
change  from  the  faith  and  teaching  of  Christ  to  the  body  of 
doctrine  that  grew  up  about  his  name. 

For  one  thing,  the  symbolism  so  common  in  the  Jewish 
writings  was  a  stumbling-block  to  the  pagan  mind;  and 
many  a  metaphor  and  trope  was  taken  literally  and  crystal- 
lized into  doctrine :  as,  for  example,  when  the  words  of  Christ 
to  his  disciples  calling  the  wine  and  bread,  by  a  natural  and 
pathetic  figure,  his  blood  and  body,  became  hardened  into 
the  extraordinary  dogma  of  transubstantiation.1  In  such 
manner  did  the  Aryan  speculative  temper  make  strange 
work  of  the  Hebraic  parables  and  intuitions!  All  sorts  of  in- 
genious subterfuges  sought  to  reconcile  the  resultant  incon- 
sistencies, and  many  conflicting  theologies  competed  with 
one  another  for  dominance.    Council  after  council  debated 

1  For  the  probable  meaning  of  Christ's  words,  see  Scott,  chap.  vin. 


104  HISTORICAL 

the  points  at  issue,  the  majority  vote  ruled,  and  all  other  doc- 
trines than  those  accepted  were  dubbed  heresy.  So  grew  up 
the  body  of  Christian  theology,  widely  different,  in  its  ulti- 
mate form,  from  the  Christianity  of  Paul,  and  still  further, 
of  course,  from  the  religion  of  Jesus. 

Yet  the  Christianization  of  the  Grseco-Roman  world 
wrought  a  great  change.  Speculative  tendencies  continued 
with  little  change  of  direction,  popular  conceptions  and  ob- 
servances were  absorbed;  but  underneath  all  this  the  spirit- 
ual earnestness  and  purity  and  love  of  Jesus  and  his  follow- 
ers were  finding  their  way  into  the  world.  A  new  ideal  of  life 
was  set  before  the  mind,  far  vistas  of  sympathy  and  mercy 
and  self-surrender  replaced  the  pagan  ideal  of  self-assertion; 
and  through  all  the  mutations  of  theology  the  Christian 
life  still  glowed  in  the  hearts  of  men  and  beckoned  them 
onward. 

What  was  the  origin  of  the  conceptions  of 

/.   The  Atonement  ? 

Among  the  conceptions  slowly  crystallized  by  the  im- 
pingement of  Greek  thought  upon  the  primitive  Christian 
experiences  and  hopes  was  that  of  the  Atonement.  That  a 
new  and  redeemed  life  was  possible  to  men  through  a  mystic 
union  with  Christ  had  been  the  fundamental  note  of  Paul's 
teaching.  As  Adam  had  plunged  the  whole  human  race  into 
sin,  so  Christ  had  rescued  them;  he  was  the  Second  Adam, 
the  Saviour  of  men.  Thus  could  Jewish  Messianism  be  inter- 
preted in  terms  not  dissimilar  to  those  of  the  Greek  mys- 
teries. As  with  Attis,  Adonis,  and  Osiris,  this  Saviour-God 
had  suffered,  died,  and  risen  again;  and  his  worshipers  were 
to  repeat  in  their  lives,  in  inward  experience,  this  death  and 
resurrection.  The  study  of  these  contemporary  cults  shows 
the  Pauline  conception  to  have  been  one  of  several  analogous 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  105 

salvation-schemes.1  With  Paul  it  was  an  experience  rather 
than  a  theory;  that  he  had  actually  entered  upon  the  New 
Life  through  the  giving  of  his  allegiance  to  Christ,  he  knew. 
Moreover,  that  Christ,  having  died,  yet  lived,  and  had  re- 
vealed himself  to  Paul  on  that  eventful  day,  was  unquestion- 
able to  him.  That  his  death  had  somehow  been  for  men's 
sins  was  not  only  a  deduction  from  certain  verses  of  Scrip- 
ture, but  was  the  almost  necessary  explanation  of  such  a 
strange  and  otherwise  incomprehensible  event.  Death  was 
the  penalty  of  sin;  but  since  Christ  had  been  sinless,  his  suf- 
fering must  have  been  vicarious,  like  that  of  the  "Suffering 
Servant  of  Jehovah"  prefigured  in  Isaiah  53  —  a  passage 
which  Christ  had  no  doubt  applied  to  himself.2  Somehow 
Christ  had  conquered  sin  and  death,  for  himself  and  for  all 
who  clave  to  him.  But  in  Paul  the  conception  remained 
fluid,  rhetorical,  growing.  The  way  stood  open  for  bitter 
controversy  over  the  question  what  the  convert  must  do. 
Was  it  enough  to  believe,  was  salvation  "by  faith  alone,"  did 
the  mystical  union  with  Christ  suffice,  in  a  magical  sort  of 
way?  Or  was  continuance  in  "good  works"  essential  to  sal- 
vation?3 And  the  way  stood  open  for  endless  theorizing 
over  the  question  how  faith  in  Christ  could  redeem  men.  The 

1  Loisy  calls  them,  including  the  Christian  conception,  reves  apparentcs 
(Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  10,  p.  45). 

2  Cf.  Mark  10:  4o :  "For  verily  the  Son  of  man  came  ...  to  give  his  life 
a  ransom  for  many."  The  Greek  word  (\vrpov)  may  perhaps  be  trans- 
lated 'liberation'  —  i.e.,  'as  a  means  of  freeing  many  from  sin  and  its  pen- 
alty, death.'  How  his  death  could  effect  this  liberation  Christ  does  not  tell 
us. 

Cf.  also,  as  typical  of  early  Christian  preaching,  Titus  2:14,  "Jesus 
Christ  gave  himself  for  us,  that  he  might  redeem  us  from  all  iniquity." 
And  Acts  3 :  18,  "  But  the  things  which  God  foreshewed  by  the  mouth  of  all 
the  prophets,  that  his  Christ  should  suffer,  he  thus  fulfilled."  Cf.  also  Acts 
17:  3;  26:  23.  Luke  24:  26.  1  Cor.  6:20.  1  Pet.  1 :  18-21.  Col.  2:12-15. 
Heb.  2:14-15. 

3  For  the  leading  expressions  of  this  controversy  within  the  limits  of  the 
New  Testament,  see  Gal.  chaps.  3-5.  Rom.  3: 19  to  8:  4.  Jas.  2: 14-26. 
See  below,  pp.  180-86. 


106  HISTORICAL 

answers  to  this  latter  question  constitute  the  various  doc- 
trines of  the  Atonement.1 

II.   The  Trinity? 

The  prevalent  Greek  conception  of  God  was  that  of  an 
Absolute  Reason,  remote  from  men,  ineffable,  unknowable. 
Nor  did  the  teaching  concerning  the  war-god  of  the  Old 
Testament,  with  his  Jewish  affiliations,  and  his  role  as  Judge 
of  men,  in  great  degree  break  down  that  sense  of  aloofness. 
But  Christ  —  that  beloved  personage,  that  Redeemer  of 
men,  who  had  suffered  and  died  for  them  —  appealed  deeply 
to  their  hearts.   Christ  had  been  the  great  fact  to  Paul  and 
the  first  Christians,  union  by  faith  with  him  their  primary 
religious  experience.    The  conception  of  him  as  Jewish  Mes- 
siah was,  indeed,  unintelligible  and  uninteresting  to  the 
Greeks  and  Latins.   But  even  to  the  believing  Jews  he  had 
been  a  heaven-sent,  more  or  less  supernatural  Being.    A 
mass  of  legend  and  miracle  had  grown  up  around  him;  he 
had  become  a  figure  not  unlike  many  with  which  the  Greeks 
were  familiar,  gods  who  had  walked  the  earth  and  shared 
human  experiences.  And  so  nothing  could  have  been  more 
natural  and  inevitable  than  the  popular  deification  of  Christ. 
Even  Paul  had  spoken  of  the  spirit  of  God,  and  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  or  again,  simply  the  Spirit,  indistinguishably.   His 
mind  was  too  practical  to  care  for  consistency  or  to  spin  out 
a  satisfactory  theory  of  it  all.  But  the  result  of  his  preaching 
was  that  Christ  assumed  a  far  more  exalted  position  to  the 
Gentile  world  than  he  could  have  had  to  the  Jews.    Pliny's 
"carmen  Christo  quasi  deo  dicere"  indicates  the  popular 
worship  of  Christ;  and  in  the  early  creeds  propositions  about 
him  far  out-bulk  those  about  God. 

It   would   have   been   consonant  with  the  polytheistic 

1  To  be  discussed  below,  pp.  174-78.    See  A.  Sabatier,  Doctrine  of  the 
Atonement  and  its  Historical  Evolution. 


EARLY   CHRISTIANITY  107 

habits  of  thought  of  the  Western  peoples  to  have  left  Christ 
simply  as  another  God  by  the  side  of  Jehovah.  But  this  was 
deeply  repugnant  to  the  ingrained  monotheism  of  the  Jews. 
And  as  the  Jewish  Scriptures  had  been  taken  over  by  the 
new  religion,  it  became  necessary  to  reconcile  their  emphatic 
monotheism  with  the  deification  of  Christ.  Fortunately 
there  was  a  conception  familiar  to  the  contemporary  Greek 
mind  of  just  the  sort  to  solve  this  paradox  —  namely,  the 
Logos  conception.  Philo,  a  Jewish  philosopher  of  Alexandria, 
contemporary  with  Christ,  had  already  used  it  in  expounding 
to  the  Greek  world  a  Hellenized  Judaism,  which  he  had 
hoped  to  make  the  absolute  religion  of  the  future.  He  had 
taken  up  the  term  Logos,  which  meant  to  the  Neo-Platon- 
ists  the  Word,  or  Emanation,  or  Creative  Activity,  of  God  — 
a  sort  of  separate  entity  which  bridged  the  chasm  between 
God  and  man ;  he  had  applied  this  conception  to  Jehovah, 
and  had  been  materially  aided  by  the  fact  that  the  Greek 
translators  of  the  Old  Testament  had  made  frequent  use  of 
this  same  term,  Logos,  in  the  phrases  which  we  translate 
"word"  of  God.  Even  in  the  Old  Testament  this  "word" 
or  "wisdom"  or  "creative  activity"  of  God  had  seemed  at 
times  half-personified,  as  if  a  separate  Being. 

From  Philo  or  some  other  of  the  many  writers  who  were 
using  the  term  Logos  the  mystical  author  of  the  Fourth 
Gospel  derived  the  word  and  most  of  its  significance;  his 
contribution  was  that  he  identified  Christ  with  this  Logos  of 
God,  and  made  it  therefore  clearly  personal  and  incarnate.1 
This  identification  became  generally  accepted,  although  con- 
troversy long  raged  as  to  the  exact  relation  between  Christ 
and  the  Father.  Thus  the  dominant  tendency  of  Greek 
thought  triumphed,  and  the  popular  worship  of  Christ  was 
satisfied.  From  the  conception  of  a  man  divinely  anointed 
by  God  for  the  carrying  out  of  his  purpose  for  his  chosen  peo- 

1  See  John  1 : 1-14. 


108  HISTORICAL 

pie,  to  tkat  of  a  supernatural  Being  sent  by  God  to  save  men, 
thence  to  that  of  an  Emanation  of  God  himself,  and  finally 
to  a  flat  identification  with  God  as  one  of  the  "persons"  of 
the  One  Godhead  was  a  development  that  occupied  several 
centuries.  But  in  the  end  the  instincts  and  concepts  of  the 
Western  peoples  triumphed  over  the  Jewish  monotheism  — 
which  must  have  seemed  cold  and  bare  to  them  at  best;  and 
Christ,  like  Buddha,  and  many  another  religious  founder  be- 
fore him,  became  very  God.1 

The  Neo-Platonic  conception  thus  partially  adopted  was, 
in  some  of  its  forms,  trinitarian; 2  and  it  may  be  a  significant 
fact  that  it  was  by  Greek-trained  thinkers  that  the  dogma 
of  the  Trinity  was  elaborated.  The  Spirit  of  God  had  been 
half-personified  in  the  Old  Testament;  but  it  was  now  dis- 
possessed of  the  right  to  be  thought  of  as  the  Logos  of  God 
by  Christians.  This  Holy  Spirit,  however,  had  been  of  strik- 
ing importance  in  early  Christianity  —  the  "manifestations 
of  the  Spirit "  being  the  undeniable  proofs  of  redemption.3  It 
was  obviously  detachable,  so  to  speak,  from  God,  could 
"descend  upon  men"  and  enter  their  hearts.  According  to 
the  Fourth  Gospel,  Christ  had  promised  his  disciples  to  send 
this  Spirit  to  live  in  their  hearts  when  he  should  no  longer  be 
with  them.  Gradually  this  Holy  Spirit  became  more  and 
more  a  separate  Being,  until  by  the  Christian  thinkers  of  the 
second  and  third  centuries  it  was  made  into  the  Third  Per- 
son of  a  new  and  Christian  Trinity.  The  deep  and  perma- 
nent truth  enshrined  in  this  dogma  we  shall  speak  of  in  chap- 
ter ix ;  but  in  the  literal  form  which  it  assumed,  e.g.,  in  the 
Nicene  creed,  we  must  recognize  an  embodiment  of  con- 
temporary Greek  speculation  of  a  sort  very  alien  to  our 

1  Cf.  A.  Reville,  History  of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Deity  of  Jesus  Christ. 

2  Cf.  Plotinns'  Trinity,  rb  %v,  vovs,  and  ^v%V- 

3  See  Scott,  chap,  in,  and  cf.  1  Cor.  12:  3,  "No  man  can  say,  Jesus  is 
Lord,  but  in  the  (or  a)  holy  spirit."  We  read  later  ideas  into  these  earliest 
sayings  when  we  capitalize  the  words  Holy  and  Spirit. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  109 

modern  thought  and  irreconcilable  with  our  maturer  out- 
look.1 

Christianity,  indeed,  went  still  further  in  its  concessions 
to  the  polytheistic  temper  of  the  people.  The  saints,  and 
especially  the  mother  of  Christ,  were  also  worshiped.  In 
431  a.d.  the  Council  of  Ephesus  decreed  that  the  latter  be 
received  and  honored  —  as  a  sort  of  supplement  to  the 
Trinity  —  under  the  title  of  the  Mother  of  God. 

77/.    Heaven,  Hell,  and  Purgatory? 

The  beliefs  of  the  Hebrews  as  to  what  lay  beyond  the 
grave  were,  like  those  of  most  ancient  peoples,  vague,  fluc- 
tuating, and  insecure.2  The  future  life,  if  there  was  to  be 
one  at  all,  was  to  be  rather  dreaded  than  desired.  It  was  not 
at  all  from  these  forebodings,  but  from  the  very  different 
and  far  more  eager  anticipation  of  an  earthly  Messianic 
kingdom,  that  the  Christian  hope  was  developed.  Jesus  and 
Paul  and  the  earliest  Christians  had  expected  the  coming  of 
the  Messianic  Kingdom  within  a  few  years.3  As  time  went 
on,  however,  and  Jesus  did  not  appear,  in  his  Messianic 
role,  to  establish  it,  skepticism  naturally  grew.  Two  tend- 
encies then  developed.4  In  the  first  place,  the  Judgment  Day 
and  inauguration  of  the  Kingdom  were  put  farther  and 

1  God,  Christ,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  which  had,  according  to  promise,  been 
poured  out  upon  the  Church  and  was  the  proof  of  its  divine  character,  were 
the  three  important  entities  in  early  Christian  belief;  their  conjunction  in 
baptismal  formulae,  and  elsewhere,  long  antedated  the  conception  of  them 
as  three  Persons  of  a  Triune  God. 

See  J.  Lebreton,  Origines  du  Dogme  de  la  Trinite;  L.  L.  Paine,  Critical 
History  of  the  Evolution  of  Trinitarianism.  Kriiger,  Dogma  von  dcr  Dreieinig- 
keit  und  Gottmenschheit  (Tubingen,  1905).  A.  Harnack,  Constitution  and 
Law  of  the  Church,  Appendix  n. 

2  See  below,  pp.  383-85. 

3  Cf.  above,  pp.  60-62;  66-69;  75-79;  93-94.  And  Matt.  23:  39;  25: 13. 
Mark  8 :  38;  9 :  1 ;  13 :  30-33;  14 :  25, 62.  Luke  22 :  15-18.  1  Cor.  15 :  51-52. 
Rom.  13:  11-12.    1  Thess.  4:1.   Heb.  9:  28.   Jas.  5:1. 

4  On  all  this,  see  S.  Mathews,  The  Messianic  Hope  in  the  New  Testament. 


110  HISTORICAL 

farther  away;  x  and  all  those  sayings  that  described  this  im- 
pending event  as  an  obviously  outward  and  earthly  affair  2 
were  referred  to  that  remoter  future.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
sayings  that  promised  a  speedy  return  had  to  be  taken  meta- 
phorically, as  meaning  a  coming  in  spirit  in  the  hearts  of  the 
believers  —  an  interpretation  consonant,  perhaps,  with  the 
early  post-crucifixion  experiences  of  the  disciples.3  Further, 
the  Kingdom  of  God  —  or  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  as  it  was 
sometimes  called  (owing  to  a  reticence  in  speaking  the  Di- 
vine name)  —  which  to  the  Jews  had  always  meant  a  heav- 
enly kingdom  on  earth,  in  Judsea,  was  interpreted  by  the 
Greeks,  naturally  out  of  sympathy  with  such  local  hopes,  to 
mean  a  kingdom  in  the  heavens.  The  vague  "outer  dark- 
ness" into  which  the  wicked  were  to  be  cast  crystallized 
gradually  into  a  definite  region  of  future  torment,  usually 
conceived,  in  harmony  with  widespread  ancient  notions  of 
future  existence,  as  a  vast  pit  under  the  earth.4 

Thus  arose  the  Christian  doctrine  of  Heaven  and  Hell. 
The  Day  of  Judgment  at  the  end  of  the  existing  order  — 
that  nightmare  of  the  Middle  Ages  —  was  gradually  put  far- 
ther and  farther  into  the  future;  though  at  several  epochs  a 
feverish  anticipation  of  its  imminent  approach  became  wide- 
spread. At  that  great  dies  irae  the  dead  were  to  rise  from  the 
grave  and  assemble  at  the  throne  of  God,  where  the  sheep 
would  be  separated  from  the  goats,  the  former  to  be  rewarded 
with  eternal  happiness,  the  latter  punished  with  eternal  tor- 
ment. The  Devil,  introduced  into  late  Judaism,  probably 
from  Persia,5  apparently  believed  in  but  little  emphasized 

1  Cf.  2  Thess.  2:  1-12.    Rev.,  chap.  20;  21 :  1-5. 

2  Such  as  Mark,  chap.  13.  Matt.  25 :  31-45.  Luke  17 :  26-36.  John  5:  28- 
29;  6:40.    1  Pet.  4:17-18. 

3  Cf.  especially  John  14: 16-29;  15:  26-27;  16:  7-14. 

4  Cf.,  in  the  Apostles'  Creed:  "He  descended  into  Hell." 

6  See  C.  C.  Everett,  in  Essays  Theological  and  Literary.  Also  in  New 
World,  vol.  4,  p.  1.  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  5,  p.  371.  P.  Carus, 
History  of  the  Devil. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANITY  111 

by  Jesus,  assumed  importance  in  this  scheme;  though  his 
relation  to  the  God,  who,  although  omnipotent,  tolerated 
him,  was  a  matter  for  much  controversy.  When  the  alterna- 
tive between  everlasting  bliss  or  torment  seemed  too  sharp, 
the  doctrine  of  Purgatory,  long  familiar  in  the  Orphic 
mysteries,  crept  in  to  soften  it;  but,  not  having  a  proper 
basis  in  Scripture,  it  was  rejected  by  Protestantism.1 

In  such  ways  the  various  dogmas  of  the  growing  Church 
came  into  being.  Council  after  council,  in  stormy  debate, 
worked  out  what  was  to  be  for  centuries  the  orthodox  Chris- 
tian belief.  Much  ingenuity  and  many  acute  disputations 
went  to  the  forming  of  this  body  of  doctrine,  the  mental 
energy  and  ability  of  the  times  finding  in  this  way  its  outlet. 
In  the  subtle  and  elaborate  work  of  Thomas  Aquinas  the 
system  reached  its  completest  form.  The  authority  of  the 
Church  enforced  its  acceptance  and  thus  fossilized  it,  ensur- 
ing it  against  healthy  criticism  or  further  development.  In 
Dante's  Divine  Comedy,  wherein  deep  religious  feeling  and 
the  highest  poetic  genius  vivified  and  illumined  this  gigantic 
framework  of  dogma,  we  have  the  greatest  and  most  lasting 
product  of  Catholic  theology.  Opposing  doctrines  were  vig- 
orously stamped  out;  and  this  strange  composite  of  popular 
faith  and  learned  dialectic  imposed  itself  with  a  grip  of  iron 
upon  the  mind  of  the  Western  world. 

E.  F.  Scott,  Beginnings  of  the  Church.  C.  von  Weizsaeker, 
Apostolic  Age.  A.  C.  McGiffert,  History  of  Christianity  in  the 
Apostolic  Age;  Rise  of  Modern  Religious  Ideas.  P.  Wernle,  Begin- 
nings of  Christianity.  H.  Harnack,  What  is  Christianity?  pt.  n; 
Mission  and  Expansion  of  Christianity;  History  of  Christian 
Dogma.  G.  Hodges,  The  Early  Church,  from  Ignatius  to  Augustine. 
O.  Pfleiderer,  Primitive  Christianity.  H.  Achelis,  Christentum  in  den 
ersten  drei  Jahrhunderten.  J.  C.  Ayer,  Source  Book  for  Ancient 
Church  History.   J.  A.  Faulkner,  Crises  in  the  Early  Church.  E.  Du- 

1  The  Scripture  verses  with  which  the  doctrine  supports  itself  are  2  Mace- 
12:43-46.  Matt.  12:32.  Luke  12:  48.  1  Cor.  3: 15;  15:  29. 


112  HISTORICAL 

chesne,  Early  History  of  the  Christian  Church.  S.  J.  Case,  Evo- 
lution of  Early  Christianity.  E.  Hatch,  Influence  of  Greek  Ideas  and 
Usages  upon  the  Christian  Church.  C.  Clemen,  Christianity  and  its 
N on- Jewish  Sources.  T.  R.  Glover,  Conflict  of  Religions  in  the  Early 
Roman  Empire,  chaps,  v-x.  A.  Sabatier,  Outlines  of  the  Philosophy 
of  Religion,  bk.  n,  chap.  in.  L.  Abbott,  Evolution  of  Christianity, 
chaps,  v— vi.  Foundations,  chap.  iv.  G.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chaps. 
rx-x.  F.  Paulsen,  System  of  Ethics,  bk.  i,  chaps,  ii--iv.  H.  B. 
Mitchell,  Talks  on  Religion,  chap.  vi.  G.  Santayana,  Reason  in 
Religion,  chaps,  vi-ix.  H.  B.  Workman,  Christian  Thought  to  the 
Reformation.   American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  17,  p.  63. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LATER   CHRISTIANITY;    MOHAMMEDANISM 

By  what  process  did  the  Roman  Church  become  dominant  ? 
Jesus  founded  no  church  and  had  no  thought  of  one;1 
he  merely  called  on  his  people  to  repent  and  be  ready  for  the 
approaching  world-change.  And  the  earliest  Palestinian 
Christians  simply  gathered  informally  to  listen  to  the  happy 
story,  renew  their  faith  in  their  Messiah,  and  strengthen  one 
another  in  well-doing.  It  was  rather  with  Paul's  little  groups 
of  converts  in  Asia  Minor  and  Greece,  as  time  wore  on,  that 
church  organization  developed.  At  first  they  were  very 
democratic,  vesting  whatever  disciplinary  and  executive 
powers  were  necessary  in  their  elders;2  even  into  the  sec- 
ond century,  in  Polycarp's  time,  their  organization  had 
proceeded  scarcely  farther.  But  for  mutual  helpfulness  it 
became  advisable  to  elect  overseers  —  episcopoi,  bishops ; 
these  were  at  first  simply  the  most  prominent  elders.  Grad- 
ually these  bishops  assumed  greater  and  greater  authority, 
until  the  government  of  the  churches  was  rather  monarchical 
than  democratic.  St.  Jerome,  indeed,  warns  the  bishops  3 
to  "remember  that  if  they  are  set  over  the  presbyters,  it  is 
the  result  of  tradition,  and  not  a  particular  institution  of  the 

1  Matt.  16 :  18  and  18 :  17  employ  the  word  iKK\ri<rla.  But  the  word  must 
not  be  understood  in  our  modern  sense  —  if  indeed  the  sayings  are  genuine 
at  all.  (See  Holtzmann,  Life  of  Jesus,  pp.  319  n.  326-27).  There  was  no 
time  or  motive  for  organizing  a  "church."  On  this  whole  matter  see  Scott, 
Beginnings  of  the  Church,  chap.  n. 

2  The  Greek  word  for  elder,  "presbyter,"  is  the  source  of  our  word 
"priest."   The  Latin  equivalent  is  "senior." 

3  Ad  Titum,  1 :  7. 


114  HISTORICAL 

Lord."  But  by  the  fourth  century  they  had  taken  over  the 
functions  —  and  even  the  titles,  sacerdos,  pontifex,  etc.  — 
of  their  predecessors,  the  pagan  priests;  and  so,  step  by  step, 
the  pagan  sacerdotal  idea  replaced  the  simpler  conception  of 
primitive  Christianity. 

Amid  these  bishops  it  was  natural  that  the  Bishop  of 
Rome  should  have  the  greatest  prestige.  Rome  was  the  cap- 
ital of  the  Empire,  and  —  especially  now  that  Jerusalem 
had  fallen  —  the  natural  center  for  the  Church's  life.  More- 
over, in  the  struggle  against  unbelievers  and  heretics  it  be- 
came necessary  to  have  some  central  authority.  Church 
councils  were  too  clumsy  a  method  of  solving  this  problem; 
the  leadership  of  the  Roman  bishops  offered  a  promise  of 
unity.  Thus  the  Papacy  was  practically  a  fait  accompli  be- 
fore it  occurred  to  its  apologists  to  justify  it  by  the  theory 
of  divine  right  through  Petrine  succession.1  That  theory,  as 
it  was  formulated  toward  the  close  of  the  second  century, 
derived  the  powers  of  the  Roman  bishop,  by  an  unbroken 
succession,  from  the  apostle  Peter,  who  was  said  to  have 
ended  his  days  in  Rome,  and  upon  whom  Jesus  was  said  to 
have  conferred  authority  over  the  Church.2    There  was 

1  Just  so  the  theory  of  the  divine  right  of  kings,  which  has  lingered  to  our 
day,  is  a  justification  to  the  intellect,  after  the  fact,  of  an  antecedent  status 
which  it  was  desired  to  support. 

2  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  earlier  links  in  this  chain  are  entirely  untrust- 
worthy. Peter  may  possibly  have  gone  to  Rome  —  though  there  is  no  evi- 
dence of  it.  But  if  he  did,  the  fact  has  no  significance.  To  any  one  who 
grasps  the  historic  setting  and  real  spirit  of  Jesus'  anticipations,  it  is  clear 
that  nothing  was  farther  from  his  mind  than  the  transmitting  of  sacerdotal 
power  to  an  institution.  Peter  was  simply  the  man  whom  he  trusted  to 
keep  his  little  band  loyal  until  his  Messianic  coming.  And  then,  there  was 
in  all  probability  no  bishop  at  all  in  the  little  Roman  church  till  long  after 
Peter's  death.  The  Catholic  interpretation  of  Matt.  16:18-19  does  not 
appear  until  the  third  century.  That  text  —  which  does  not  appear  at  all 
in  the  earliest  narrative  —  may  even  be  not  from  Jesus'  lips  at  all.  See 
Holtzmann,  Life  of  Jesus,  pp.  32G-30.  And  cf.  E.  F.  Scott,  Beginnings  of 
the  Church,  p.  51 :  "  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  nowhere  in  the  Gospels  do 
we  have  stronger  evidence  of  interpolation  than  in  this  memorable  passage." 


LATER  CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  115 

strenuous  opposition  from  the  other  bishops  and  their 
churches  to  this  assumption  of  authority  by  Rome.  But  the 
early  Roman  bishops  were  good  politicians;  and  out  of  the 
general  chaos  they  emerged  triumphant.  Thus,  by  an  easily 
intelligible  process,  a  powerful  centralized  Church,  modeled 
in  organization  after  the  Roman  Empire,  and  succeeding 
to  its  authority  and  prestige,  grew  up  out  of  the  democratic 
fraternities  of  primitive  disciples. 

During  the  same  period  a  ritual  and  liturgy  were  evolved, 
and  the  Church  more  and  more  assumed  control  over  the 
lives  of  men.  The  weaker  the  Empire  grew,  the  stronger 
grew  the  power  of  priesthood  and  papacy.  The  division  of 
the  Empire  led,  indeed,  to  a  like  growth  in  authority  of  the 
Bishop  of  Constantinople;  and  a  schism  between  East  and 
West  developed  which  was  never  healed.  But  though  the 
Eastern  Church  remained,  and  remains  to  this  day,  separate 
from  the  Roman  Church,  the  latter  waxed  steadily  in  au- 
thority in  the  West.  In  386  Ambrose  refused  to  obey  the 
Emperor  Valentinian ;  and  a  few  years  later  another  emperor, 
Theodosius,  humbled  himself  and  performed  penance  at  the 
dictation  of  that  bishop  of  the  Church.  In  800,  Leo  III 
placed  the  crown  on  the  head  of  the  Emperor  of  the  Franks; 
and  at  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century  Innocent  III 
dominated  Europe.  Finally,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the 
dogma  of  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope  was  decreed  —  a  des- 
perate attempt  to  stem  the  rising  tide  of  secularism  which 
has  shorn  from  the  Papacy  its  political  power  and  a  large 
part  of  its  hold  on  the  minds  of  men. 

What  was  the  significance  of  the  Reformation? 

During  the  Middle  Ages  the  decree  of  Pope  and  Council 
was  accepted  by  all  the  Western  peoples  that  had  adopted 
Christianity.  Not,  indeed,  without  recurrent  charing  and 
protest;  there  were  many  "reformers  before  the  Reforma- 


116  HISTORICAL 

tion."  But  the  masses  were  illiterate  and  ignorant,  inter- 
communication of  thought  was  not  easy,  and  the  various 
early  attempts  at  rebellion  proved  abortive.  So,  although 
the  way  was  prepared  by  Wyclif  in  England,  Huss  in  Bo- 
hemia, and  other  independent  and  deeply  religious  spirits, 
the  actual  break  with  Rome  did  not  occur  until  Luther's 
defiance  of  Papal  authority  in  1517.  Luther,  who  was  a 
priest,  and  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Wittenberg,  did 
not  foresee  at  first  an  actual  secession  from  the  Church ;  but 
circumstances  drove  him  on.  Excommunicated  in  1520,  he 
publicly  burned  the  Papal  decree.  Others  flocked  to  his 
standard;  in  1529  a  number  of  German  princes  and  repre- 
sentatives of  the  cities  signed  the  famous  Protest  which  gave 
the  name  to  the  new  movement.  Political  considerations 
entered  in;  especially  the  new  sense  of  nationality  among  the 
Northern  peoples  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  the 
Roman  yoke.  In  Switzerland,  Denmark,  Sweden,  and  the 
British  Isles  the  challenge  to  Papal  authority  was  particu- 
larly welcome.  After  protracted  discussion  and  struggle, 
issuing  in  actual  warfare  in  central  Europe,  the  Northern 
nations  became  predominantly  Protestant,  while  in  the 
Mediterranean  countries  the  old  regime  retained  its  hold. 
The  Reformation  was  really  a  revolution;  and  its  name 
might  better  be  applied  to  the  so-called  Counter-Reforma- 
tion by  which  the  Roman  Church  purged  itself,  under  the 
stress  of  criticism  and  revolt,  of  its  more  flagrant  abuses. 
The  most  palpable  of  these,  and  the  immediate  occasion  of 
Luther's  protest,  was  the  shocking  and  cynical  sale  of  indul- 
gences, whereby  those  who  had  money  were  granted  forgive- 
ness of  sins  and  eternal  life.  But  this  was  only  one  embodi- 
ment of  the  corruption  and  wire-pulling  in  the  Church  of 
the  times,  corruption  that  was  so  snugly  intrenched  in  high 
places  as  to  need  drastic  measures.  The  protest  of  the  reform- 
ers was  directed,  however,  not  only  against  the  worldliness 


LATER  CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  117 

and  politics  in  the  Church,  but  against  the  paganized  form  of 
the  Gospel  which  had  become  the  official  doctrine  —  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Madonna,  of  saints  and  relics,  the  dogma  of  trans- 
substantiation  and  the  sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  the  belief  in 
Purgatory  and  the  practice  of  prayers  for  the  dead,  the  insti- 
tution of  Confession  —  such  accretions  of  doctrine,  which 
seemed  to  the  reformers  rather  heathen  than  Christian. 
There  was  also  an  element  of  protest  against  the  unwhole- 
some asceticism  favored  by  the  Church  and  flourishing  side 
by  side  with  its  worldliness  —  the  monastic  system,  the  celi- 
bate clergy,  the  fastings  and  penances  whereby  special 
merit  with  God  was  to  be  won. 

Some  of  the  practices  thus  criticized  were  presently  re- 
formed within  the  ancient  Church.  But  the  Protestant  re- 
volt was  too  fundamental  to  be  checked  by  such  concessions. 
With  the  revival  of  Greek  culture  and  learning,  the  renais- 
sance of  the  study  of  nature,  and  the  awakening  of  the  spirit 
of  free  inquiry,  the  control  of  a  self-styled  authoritative 
church  over  the  minds  of  men  was  doomed.  These  humaniz- 
ing and  enlightening  influences  had  been  instinctively  antag- 
onized by  the  Church  and  long  repressed.  But  the  new  ideas 
spread  from  the  universities,  and  the  authority  of  established 
beliefs  could  not  remain  unchallenged.  The  revolt  from 
Rome  did  not  imply  an  immediate  and  far-reaching  change 
of  beliefs ;  but  it  did  mean  a  freedom  from  the  choking  eccle- 
siastical tyranny  which  was  rendering  freedom  of  thought 
and  further  growth  impossible.  It  meant  that  henceforth  the 
people  were  to  have  a  hand  in  the  government  and  creedal 
decisions  of  the  Church.  And  it  meant  a  setting  aside  of  the 
sacerdotal  system,  with  all  its  external  machinery  of  salva- 
tion. Religion  again,  as  in  the  hands  of  Christ  and  of  Paul, 
became  a  first-hand  and  inward  matter;  salvation  was  not 
through  sacraments  and  priestly  absolution,  but  through 
the  immediate  relation  of  the  individual  to  Christ  and  God. 


118  HISTORICAL 

Thus  the  independent  and  virile  Northern  races  broke  away 
from  the  domination  of  a  stifling  ecclesiastical  system  which 
had  become,  as  time  went  on,  in  greater  and  greater  degree 
alien  to  their  temper. 

The  underlying  and  unexpressed  ideal  of  the  Reformation 
was  that  beliefs  and  practices  must  not  be  imposed  upon 
men's  minds  by  an  external  authority,  but  must  grow  out  of 
experience  and  be  tested  by  reason.  But  it  is  only  gradually 
that  Protestantism  has  come  to  full  self-consciousness.  The 
craving  for  outward  and  visible  authority  to  lean  upon  long 
persisted;  and  a  great  deal  of  the  Catholic  absolutist  spirit 
survived  in  the  new  churches.  Moreover,  in  the  struggle 
against  Rome  the  need  of  some  weapon  was  felt;  the  weapon 
at  hand  was  the  Bible.  Thus  the  reformers  escaped  from 
slavery  to  a  church  only  to  fall  into  slavery  to  Scripture- 
texts.  And  many  Protestants,  advancing  beyond  their  con- 
temporaries in  liberal  thought,  were  persecuted  not  only  by 
Catholics,  but  by  their  own  more  conservative  brethren. 
The  history  of  Protestantism  is  a  record  of  intolerance  and 
bigotry  which  goes  far  to  dim  its  actual  achievement  in  set- 
ting men  on  the  path  of  progress. 

Yet  that  it  did  set  men  on  the  path  of  progress  is  undeni- 
able. Although  when  it  broke  with  ecclesiastical  authority 
it  took  refuge  in  the  authority  of  Scripture,  making  that  the 
basis  and  oracle  of  its  faith,  there  was  this  momentous  gain: 
instead  of  having  to  go  to  the  priests  to  learn  the  truth,  every 
one  could  henceforth  find  it  for  himself  in  God's  written 
word.  But  the  Bible,  being  a  heterogeneous  collection  of 
writings  expressing  the  points  of  view  of  many  writers  of 
widely  separated  times  and  beliefs,  easily  supplies  a  text  for 
almost  any  doctrine  —  especially  if  its  words  are  wrenched 
from  their  context  and  interpreted  in  the  violent  and  arbi- 
trary manner  common  to  theologians.  Thus  Protestantism, 
while  still,  like  its  parent-faith,  claiming  the  support  of  an 


LATER  CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  119 

infallible  authority,  lent  itself  to  growth  and  change;  a 
rapid  divergence  of  belief  resulted.1 

What  have  been  the  subsequent  tendencies  of  Chris- 
tianity? 
(1)  At  first,  revolting  from  the  loose  and  degenerate  prac- 
tices of  contemporary  Catholicism,  Protestantism  assumed 
a  form  of  grim  austerity;  in  Calvinism  we  have  the  severest 
form  of  Christianity.  Calvin,  with  uncompromising  logic, 
drew  from  the  harshest  verses  of  the  Bible  a  clean-cut  and 
relentless  system,  which  bred  a  race  of  stern  morality,  but 
nearly  banished  all  the  natural  joys  of  life.  In  England  the 
new  national  church  —  established  largely  through  political 
reasons  —  was,  except  for  its  independence  of  Rome,  but  a 
slightly  expurgated  Catholicism;  and  the  Puritans  —  those 
who  stood  out  for  a  pure  church  —  looked  upon  it  as  a  case 
of  arrested  development.  They  would  have  no  images  or 
candles  or  luxurious  vestments,  no  mummery  of  ritual  or 
liturgy,  nothing  luring  to  the  senses  or  smacking  of  worldli- 
ness.  Of  priests  and  bishops  they  would  have  none;  face  to 
face  with  God  and  His  word  they  lived,  a  stern,  uncompro- 
mising and  splendidly  devoted  band.  New  England  was  first 
settled,  and  made  what  it  was  to  be,  by  them.  Such  men  as 
Cotton  Mather  and  Jonathan  Edwards  were  fit  to  rank,  in 
the  power  and  purity  of  their  lives  and  the  depth  of  their  re- 
ligious feeling,  with  the  great  Hebrew  prophets.  And  yet, 
Puritanism,  with  its  firm  belief  in  predestination  and  eternal 
punishment,  was  a  religion  to  make  one  shudder.  Such  ser- 
mons as  Edwards's  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God 
depict  a  deity  beside  whom  the  Devil  himself  pales  into  a 

1  For  the  Reformation,  see,  in  addition  to  the  books  mentioned  at  the 
close  of  the  chapter,  T.  M.  Lindsay,  History  of  the  Reformation.  C.  Beard, 
The  Reformation  in  its  Relation  to  Modern  Thought  and  Knowledge.  R.  M. 
Jones,  Spiritual  Reformers  in  the  Sixteenth  and  Seventeenth  Century. 


120  HISTORICAL 

mildly  malevolent  being.  An  arbitrary  and  cruel  tyrant, 
damning  the  majority  of  his  helpless  creatures,  and  saving  a 
remnant,  not  for  their  own  merits,  but  to  manifest  his  own 
power,  or  "glory,"  deserves  at  the  least  Channing's  phrase 
—  "a  very  injurious  view  of  the  Supreme  Being."  : 

(2)  And  in  fact  this  hideous  doctrine  became,  as  the  times 
grew  happier  and  more  generally  moral,  too  awful  for  men's 
increasingly  humane  instincts.  The  whole  Calvinistic-Puri- 
tanic  scheme,  with  its  grim  stress  on  the  eternal  gulf  between 
sinners  and  saved,  and  its  black  picture  of  the  natural  state 
of  man,  however  suited  to  the  dark  times  of  St.  Augustine 
and  Calvin,  was  not  plausible  in  the  easier  and  on  the  whole 
much  purer  conditions  of  modern  life;  and  it  has  gradually 
come  to  seem  nothing  less  than  preposterous  to  all  but  the 
most  tenaciously  conservative  of  the  descendants  of  those 
who,  but  a  generation  or  two  ago,  firmly  believed  it.  The 
conception  of  God  prevalent  at  any  time  reflects  the  temper 
and  ideals  of  the  believers;  and  the  modern  mind,  more  sen- 
sitive to  suffering  than  that  of  earlier  ages,  will  tolerate  no 
such  tyrannical  and  brutal  deity.2 

Thus  there  has  been  in  recent  times,  and  particularly  in 

1  He  had  already  written  (in  1809),  "A  man  of  plain  sense,  whose  spirit 
has  not  been  broken  to  this  creed  by  education  or  terror,  will  think  it  is  not 
necessary  for  us  to  travel  to  heathen  countries  to  learn  how  mournfully  the 
human  mind  may  misrepresent  the  Deity." 

-  Cf.  W.  James,  \'arieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  329:  "Few  his- 
toric changes  are  more  curious  than  these  mutations  of  theological  opinion. 
The  monarchical  type  of  sovereignty  was,  for  example,  so  ineradically 
planted  in  the  mind  of  our  own  forefathers  that  a  dose  of  cruelty  and  ar- 
bitrariness in  their  deity  seems  positively  to  have  been  required  by  their 
imagination.  They  called  the  cruelty  'retributive  justice,'  and  a  God  with- 
out it  would  certainly  have  struck  them  as  not  'sovereign'  enough.  But  to- 
day we  abhor  the  very  notion  of  eternal  suffering  inflicted;  and  that  arbi- 
trary dealing-out  of  salvation  and  damnation  to  selected  individuals,  of 
which  Jonathan  Kdwards  could  persuade  himself  that  he  had  not  only  a 
conviction,  but  a  'delightful  conviction'  as  of  a  doctrine  'exceedingly  pleas- 
ant, bright  and  sweet,'  appears  to  us,  if  sovereignly  anything,  sovereignly 
irrational  and  mean." 


LATER   CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  121 

America,  a  great  revival  of  belief  in  the  love  of  God,  leading 
in  many  quarters  to  a  conviction  of  universal  salvation. 
Channing  declared  that  the  orthodox  "have  too  often  felt 
as  if  God  were  raised  by  his  greatness  and  sovereignty  above 
the  principles  of  morality,  above  those  eternal  laws  of  equity 
and  rectitude,  to  which  all  other  beings  are  subjected.  .  .  . 
We  believe  that  God  is  infinitely  good,  kind,  and  benevolent, 
in  the  proper  sense  of  these  words;  good  not  to  a  few,  but  to 
all;  good  to  every  individual."  Theodore  Parker  wrote, 
God's  "  plan  must  be  adapted  to  secure  the  ultimate  welfare 
of  each  creature  he  has  made."  This  gentler  and  happier 
view  has  permeated  in  greater  or  less  degree  all  the  Protest- 
ant churches,  and  bids  fair  to  become  the  dominant  Chris- 
tian conception.1 

(3)  This  great  reversal  of  belief,  together  with  many  other 
changes  of  conception  which  we  have  not  space  to  enumer- 
ate, involved  the  abandonment  of  tenets  that  seemed  se- 
curely based  upon  the  Bible,  and  naturally  shook  its  author- 
ity. More  and  more,  reason  came  to  be  upheld  in  its  place  as 
the  ultimate  criterion  of  truth.  St.  Augustine  had  said, 
"  This  is  my  faith  because  it  is  the  Catholic  faith."  The  early 
Protestants  had  said,  "This  is  our  faith  because  the  Bible 
says  so."  But  many  were  saying  by  the  eighteenth  century, 
with  Toland,  "  We  hold  that  reason  is  the  only  foundation  of 
all  certitude,"  and  with  Bishop  Butler,  "Reason  is,  indeed, 

1  C.  C.  Everett,  late  professor  of  theology  at  Harvard  University, 
writing  of  this  revolution  of  belief,  said,  "  It  was  as  if  black  and  heavy  clouds 
had  rolled  away,  and  the  blue  heavens  stretched  above  them,  and  the  clear 
sunshine  gladdened  their  hearts.  God  was  no  longer  the  stern  judge,  de- 
manding the  death  of  the  innocent  before  he  could  forgive  the  guilty  — 
if  that  can  be  called  forgiveness  which  has  been  purchased  at  such  a  price. 
Christ  was  no  longer  the  substituted  victim  of  the  Father's  wrath.  Man  was 
no  longer  under  the  curse  of  God.  These  men  saw  only  the  love  of  God  re- 
flected in  the  face  of  Jesus.  Man  was  the  child  of  God,  still  followed  and 
ever  to  be  followed  by  the  Father's  love." 

Cf.  Barrett  Wendell,  Literary  History  of  America,  bk.  v,  chap.  iv. 


122  HISTORICAL 

the  only  faculty  which  we  have  to  judge  concerning  anything, 
even  revelation  itself.  .  .  .  The  faculty  of  reason  is  the  can- 
dle of  the  Lord  within  us,  against  vilifying  which  we  must  be 
very  cautious."  In  1819  Channing,  a  Christian  minister, 
could  write,  "If  religion  be  the  shipwreck  of  understanding, 
we  cannot  keep  too  far  from  it ";  and  a  little  later,  "We  must 
never  forget  that  our  rational  nature  is  the  greatest  gift  of 
God.  ...  If  I  could  not  be  a  Christian  without  ceasing  to  be 
rational,  I  should  not  hesitate  as  to  my  choice  ...  I  am 
surer  that  my  rational  nature  is  from  God  than  that  any 
book  is  the  expression  of  his  will." 

In  pursuance  of  this  spirit,  modern  Liberal  Christianity 
studies  the  Bible  more  and  more  as  it  would  study  any  other 
book,  sees  the  Hebrew  god  Jehovah  for  what  he  really  was  to 
the  minds  of  those  early  Semites,  and  recognizes  him  as  be- 
ing to  them  very  much  what  the  contemporary  gods  of 
Greece  or  Babylon  were  to  their  worshipers.  Its  God  must 
be  less  barbarous,  local,  and  anthropomorphic,  revealed 
rather  in  the  eternal  moral  law  than  in  special  miracles  or 
Jewish  codes.  He  is  no  longer  thought  of  as  favoring  a  spe- 
cial people  or  having  the  scope  of  his  purposes  limited  by  the 
history  of  Judaism  and  Christianity.  The  whole  world- 
process  is  his  plan;  we  are  to  read  his  will  not  so  much  in  the 
sermons  of  Isaiah  or  the  letters  of  Paul  as  in  the  conscience 
with  which  we  are  all  endowed  and  the  universal  spiritual 
experience  of  man. 

(•i)  The  ultimate  goal  of  Protestantism  seems  to  be  the 
complete  rationalization  of  its  beliefs,  the  acceptance  by  re- 
ligion of  science  as  the  arbiter  of  truth,  and  the  formulation 
of  her  insights  and  ideals  in  terms  that  science  can  accept. 
The  promise  of  this  eventual  outcome  lies  in  that  individual 
liberty  of  belief  whose  germs  were  contained  in  the  Reforma- 
tion. There  is  even,  in  the  movement  known  as  Modernism, 
a  push  within  the  Catholic  Church  toward  this  goal.   But 


LATER  CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  123 

while  such  endeavors  are  strictly  repressed  by  the  Roman 
See,  Protestantism,  rejoicing  in  its  comparative  freedom, 
presents  the  spectacle  of  a  chaos  of  experiments  in  reconcilia- 
tion of  the  old  and  the  new.  On  the  one  hand  there  are  reac- 
tionary eddies  toward  traditional  beliefs;  on  the  other,  all 
sorts  of  new  and  grotesquely  irrational  cults,  tangential  to 
the  main  line  of  development.  Spiritualism,  with  its  supposi- 
titious evidence  of  a  future  life,  offers  comfort  to  the  credu- 
lous. Recently  we  have  witnessed  the  extraordinary  career 
of  John  Alexander  Dowie,  "  Elijah  II,  The  Restorer,  General 
Overseer  of  the  Christian  Catholic  Church  in  Zion,"  who 
made  himself  a  multi-millionaire  through  the  gullibility  of 
his  followers.  Christian  Science,  so-called,  has  attracted 
many  thousands  by  its  radical  optimism,  its  promise  of 
physical  health,  and  its  frank  abandonment  of  most  of  the 
older  dogmas.  All  these  phenomena  are  so  many  phases  of 
that  great  doctrinal  upheaval  that  is  gradually  changing 
the  basis  of  authority  in  religion  from  ecclesiastical  pro- 
nouncement and  written  word  to  reason  and  experience. 

Meanwhile,  as  doctrines  confront  one  another  and  crum- 
ble, more  and  more  emphasis  is  laid  upon  the  necessity  and 
transcendent  worth  of  the  Christian  Life.  Churches  of 
widely  different  beliefs  are  learning  to  cooperate  for  human 
uplift  and  to  emphasize  what  they  have  in  common  rather 
than  their  creedal  differences.  In  general,  the  thought  of 
Christendom  less  and  less  concerns  itself  with  another  world, 
but  sets  itself  the  task  of  bettering  this  world.  The  Institu- 
tional Church,  the  Y.M.C.A.,  and  kindred  organizations, 
draw  attention  to  the  need  of  social  regeneration.  Some 
churches  have  arisen  which  discard  the  traditional  beliefs  in 
tolo,  and  make  their  basis  of  fellowship  solely  the  endeavor 
after  the  spiritual  life,  the  life  of  purity  and  service.  Thus, 
through  all  doctrinal  changes,  and  although  the  intellectual 
formulation  of  the  religion  is  profoundly  changing,  the  Chris- 


124  HISTORICAL 

tian  Ideal  remains  practically  what  it  was  to  the  earliest  dis- 
ciples, and  a  force  of  enormous  potency  in  the  world. 

What  are  the  essential  features  of  Mohammedanism? 

Six  centuries  after  the  birth  of  Christianity  another 
Semitic  religion  emerged  from  the  East,  this  time  from 
Arabia,  spread  with  extraordinary  rapidity,  and  became,  in 
point  of  numbers,  one  of  the  great  religions  of  mankind. 
Mohammed,  although  unable  to  read  or  write,  and  of  a 
rather  morbid,  neurotic  temperament,  had  a  gift  of  eloquent 
speech,  with  great  personal  magnetism,  and  aroused  a  fanat- 
ical devotion  to  his  person  and  his  teachings.  By  no  means 
an  impostor,  he  had  a  profound  belief  in  himself,  intense 
earnestness  and  sincerity  in  his  mission,  and  accomplished 
reforms  of  importance  for  his  people.  From  his  childhood  he 
was  subject  to  trances  and  visions;  and  he  undoubtedly  be- 
lieved himself,  like  the  Old  Testament  prophets,  —  whom  he 
in  many  respects  resembled,  —  directly  inspired  and  com- 
missioned of  God.  It  is  true  that  in  his  later  years  he  became 
an  opportunist,  manufactured  visions  to  suit  his  needs,  and 
blackened  his  record  by  some  treacherous  and  cruel  acts. 
But  this  was  still  in  the  service  of  an  ambition  that  was  truly 
national  and  religious.  In  the  year  622  a.d.  he  made  the 
famous  journey  —  the  Hegira  —  from  Mecca  to  Medina, 
which  has  since  become  the  starting-point  of  Moslem  chro- 
nology. From  that  time  on  his  success  was  meteoric;  and 
before  he  died,  a  decade  later,  he  stood  at  the  head  of  a 
great  politico-religious  empire. 

As  is  always  the  case  with  great  religious  or  political  suc- 
cesses, Mohammed  appeared  at  just  the  right  moment.  The 
Arabian  peoples  were  experiencing  a  great  renaissance  and 
a  religious  unrest;  their  sense  of  nationality  was  coming  to 
consciousness,  and  a  population  grown  too  large  for  the 
sterile  peninsula  was  on  the  point  of  one  of  those  periodic 


LATER  CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  125 

overflows  such  as  have  so  largely  shaped  the  history  of  man. 
Mohammed's  great  work  lay  in  unifying  this  people.  It  was 
their  differing  worship  that  most  kept  them  apart;  and  by 
his  war-cry,  "There  is  One  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his 
prophet!"  he  took  the  most  effective  means  toward  their 
consolidation.  There  was  already  a  strong  drift  toward 
monotheism  among  the  people;  Jewish  and  Christian  ideas 
had  played  considerable  part  therein.  But  it  was  reserved 
for  Mohammed  to  complete  the  process.  The  unity  and  ab- 
solute sovereignty  of  Allah  was  his  dominating  idea;  all  the 
other  gods  were  to  be  viewed  as  created  and  subordinate 
beings.  The  simplicity  and  universality  of  the  conception 
won  rapid  allegiance;  and  the  fierce  Bedouin  tribes  united 
under  the  banner  of  Allah  to  spread  their  new  gospel  by  the 
sword.  By  700  a.d.  the  sway  of  the  new  religious  state  had 
become  as  wide  as  that  of  Christianity  at  the  time  of  Con- 
stantine;  and  but  for  its  defeat  by  Charles  Martel,  at  the 
battle  of  Tours,  it  might  have  overrun  western  Europe  as  it 
did  Asia,  Africa,  and  the  Balkan  peninsular. 

The  chief  religious  value  of  Mohammedanism  —  besides 
its  banishing  of  earlier  superstitions  —  lies  in  its  demand  of 
absolute  loyalty  to  Allah  and  acquiescence  in  his  will.  Allah 
is  an  absolute  monarch,  majestic,  inscrutable,  omnipotent; 
there  is  in  him  a  complete  lack  of  the  intimate  fatherliness 
and  love  of  the  Christian  God.  But  the  loyal  allegiance  to 
his  commands  and  the  loyal  submission  to  his  will  have 
brought  a  large  measure  of  selflessness  and  peace  into  the 
hearts  of  devout  Moslems.  And  the  fatalistic  view  of  his  pur- 
poses has  endowed  them  with  a  reckless  courage  unsurpassed 
in  the  history  of  man.  The  Mohammedan  creed  is  militant, 
prescribing  a  Holy  War  against  infidels;  it  is  kicking  in  the 
gentler  and  sweeter  traits  of  Christianity;  and  it  has  not 
hitherto  proved  progressive.  It  legitimates  slavery,  polyg- 
amy, easy  divorce  on  the  part  of  the  husband,  and  promises 


126  HISTORICAL 

sexual  delights  in  a  very  material  Paradise.  The  humiliating 
position  of  women  throughout  the  Mohammedan  world  of 
to-day  is  largely  due  to  the  insane  jealousy  of  the  Prophet. 
The  injunction  of  almsgiving  —  emphasized  by  Mohammed 
because  of  his  own  needy  and  orphaned  childhood  —  has 
been  responsible  for  the  maintenance  of  a  perpetual  horde  of 
beggars  wherever  his  doctrine  is  preached.  The  one  great 
moral  contribution  of  the  religion  is  its  prohibition  of  alco- 
holic drinks,  which  has  kept  the  Mohammedan  world  reason- 
ably free  from  that  curse  of  Christendom.  The  Koran,  with 
its  bizarre  visions  and  utter  lack  of  charm  of  style  or  orderly 
arrangement,  is  among  the  most  tedious  and  confusing  of 
sacred  books.  A  collection  of  fragments  of  remembered  dis- 
courses of  the  Prophet,  made  some  time  after  his  death,  and 
arranged  in  order  of  length,  it  has  been  rather  barren  men- 
tal food  for  the  millions  whose  religion  it  contains.  On  the 
whole,  and  apart  from  its  initial  value  in  consolidating  and 
arousing  a  hitherto  disorganized  and  inarticulate  people, 
Mohammedanism  seems  to  have  little  in  it  of  the  highest 
worth  for  mankind. 

S.  Dill,  Roman  Society  from  Nero  to  Marcus  Aurelius,  bk.  iv; 
Roman  Society  in  the  last  Century  of  the  Roman  Empire,  bk.  I. 
C.  Bigg,  The  Church's  Task  under  the  Roman  Empire.  A.  Sabatier, 
Religions  of  Authority  and  the  Religion  of  the  Spirit,  bk.  i,  chaps, 
n-v;  bk.  ii,  chaps,  i-ii.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap.  xi.  A.  V.  G. 
Allen,  Christian  Institutions.  J.  B.  Carter,  Religious  Life  of  Ancient 
Rome,  chaps,  iv-viii.  A.  C.  Flick,  Rise  of  the  Mediaeval  Church. 
H.  B.  Workman,  Church  of  the  West  in  the  Middle  Ages;  and  several 
other  books.  R.  Sohm,  Outlines  of  Church  History.  P.  Schaff, 
History  of  the  Christian  Church.  G.  P.  Fisher,  History  of  Christian 
Doctrine;  History  of  the  Reformation.  A.  C.  McGiffert.  Protestant 
Thought  before  Kant;  Martin  Luther.  E.  C.  Moore,  Outline  of  the 
History  of  Christian  Thought  since  Kant.  S.  Cheetham,  History 
of  the  Christian  Church  since  the  Reformation.  W.  S.  Crowe,  Phases 
of  Religious  Life  in  America. 


LATER   CHRISTIANITY;  MOHAMMEDANISM  127 

D.  B.  Macdonald,  Aspects  of  Islam;  Religious  Attitude  and  Life 
in  Islam.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus,  chap.  vi.  A.  Menzies,  History  of 
Religion,  chap.  xiii.  T.  W.  Arnold,  Preaching  of  Islam.  W.  St.  C. 
Tisdall,  Religion  of  the  Crescent.  E.  Sill,  Faith  of  Islam.  F.  A. 
Klein,  Religion  of  Islam.  Syed  Ameer  Ali,  Spirit  of  Islam.  Articles 
in  Hastings  and  Schajf-Herzog  Encyclopedia,  and  Encyclopedia 
Britannica.   Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  5,  p.  474. 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  I 

What  has  been  the  trend  of  religious  evolution? 

From  the  welter  of  primitive  superstitions  to  the  pure  and 
noble  ideals  of  Buddhism,  Judaism,  and  Christianity  is  a  far 
journey.  But  the  causes  that  have  produced  these  profound 
changes  in  belief  and  practice  are,  in  general,  not  difficult  to 
discern.  We  are  not  to  think  of  the  mere  unfolding  of  a  uni- 
versal and  always  latent  "religious  instinct";  nor  is  the  road 
from  the  naive  animism  of  savage  peoples  to  the  concepts  of 
modern  liberal  religion  a  highway  along  which  mankind  as  a 
whole  have  advanced.  Rather,  there  have  been  innumer- 
able experiments  and  failures;  beliefs  have  dawned,  thrilled 
their  converts,  and  disappeared;  the  religions  that  have  sur- 
vived have  grown  far  from  the  visions  of  their  founders,  and 
show  the  marks  of  many  a  struggle  and  change.  In  this 
sphere,  as  everywhere,  the  evolutionary  process  has  pro- 
duced widely  different  results  under  differing  conditions." 
And  if  a  large  proportion  of  living  men  to-day  subscribe  to 
rather  closely  analogous  creeds,  it  is  simply  because  the  in- 
tercommunication of  modern  life,  together  with  the  many 
unifying  forces  at  work,  has  made  it  possible  for  a  few  faiths 
to  override  and  supersede  their  numerous  rivals. 

Religion  is,  at  its  beginning,  not  something  new  injected 
into  human  life;  it  emerges  rather  through  that  gradual  dif- 
ferentiation of  human  interests  which  also  marked  out  the 
spheres  of  art  and  science.  Closely  bound  up  with  the  social 
structure  of  primitive  life,  the  development  of  religious  ideas 
is  to  be  explained  largely  in  terms  of  contemporary  social 
and  intellectual  change.    Whatever  activities  and  ideas  and 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  I  129 

interests  are  vital  in  the  tribal  life  are  sure  to  be  reflected  in 
religious  practices.  Thus  religious  evolution  is  not  a  self- 
contained  process,  carrying  within  itself  its  own  explanation, 
as  an  acorn  might  be  said  to  contain  the  germ  of  all  that  the 
oak  is  to  be.  On  the  contrary,  a  religion  may  veer  in  any 
direction,  under  the  influence  of  current  science  and  philos- 
ophy, the  conscious  or  unconscious  manipulation  of  priests, 
the  political  status  and  cultural  development  of  the  people. 
The  mutual  intercourse  of  tribes  brought  alien  products  into 
the  various  home-grown  cults;  and  the  eventual  dominance 
of  one  or  other  was  determined  chiefly  by  the  physical  su- 
periority of  the  conquering  nations.  Great  personalities 
moulded  the  religion  of  their  countrymen  in  the  direction  of 
their  personal  visions  and  ideals.  The  innumerable  forces  at 
work  shaping  tribal  or  national  morals  put  their  stamp 
equally  upon  religious  practices  and  ideas,  which  are  in  early 
life  a  hardly  distinguishable  aspect  thereof.1 

Yet,  as  in  the  case  of  moral  evolution,  so  in  religious  evo- 
lution, a  few  simple  constant  forces  determine  in  the  end  the 
direction  of  development.  Whatever  variations  of  belief  and 
practice  may  arise,  there  is  in  the  long  run  a  natural  selection 
for  survival  of  those  that  meet  certain  underlying  human 
needs.  These  needs  are  threefold:  for  consolation,  for  in- 
spiration, and  for  comprehension.  In  general,  and  in  the 
long  run,  those  conceptions  tend  to  prevail  which  are  happier 
and  more  hopeful;  those  which  are  more  moral,  or  spiritual 
—  i.e.,  which  lead  the  believer  into  the  better  ways  of  life; 
and  those  which  are  more  rational,  more  in  harmony  with 
men's  observations  of  what  is  true  or  probable.  Such  beliefs 
have  an  inherent  stability  which  is  lacking  to  the  gloomy  or 
fearful  beliefs,  to  the  immoral  practices,  and  to  the  more 
fantastic  and  obviously  irrational  conceptions.    It  is  impos- 

1  For  a  detailed  discussion  of  these  forces  see  my  Problems  of  Conduct, 
Part  i. 


HISTORICAL 

..jie  for  most  of  us  to-day  to  believe,  for  example,  in  original 
sin  and  predestination  to  damnation;  to  worship  the  cruel 
and  immoral  gods  of  Babylon  —  or,  for  that  matter,  of  the 
prophet  Samuel1  or  of  Calvin;  to  take  seriously  the  pre- 
dicted world-catastrophes  of  the  book  of  Revelation  or  the 
Heaven  and  Hell  of  Dante.  To  judge  from  observable  tend- 
encies, the  goal  of  religious  evolution  would  seem  to  be  a 
faith  that  shall  be  cheering,  pure  in  its  morality,  and  in  har- 
mony with  the  dicta  of  our  scientific  knowledge  of  the  world. 

The  most  striking  example  of  the  working  of  the  first  of 
these  three  forces  is  to  be  found  in  the  growth  and  spread 
of  monotheism.  Polytheism,  although  a  more  natural  and 
instinctive  reaction  to  the  complex  and  often  opposed  forces 
of  nature,  leaves  the  mind  confused  and  hope  uncertain. 
However  favorably  disposed  a  god  may  be,  his  power  is  lim- 
ited by  that  of  other  and  perhaps  less  beneficent  beings. 
Athene,  for  example,  was  sure  to  work  for  the  city  that  bore 
her  name;  but  Hera's  power  was  also  to  be  reckoned  with. 
Jehovah  would  fight  for  his  tribes,  but  so  would  Baal  and 
Chemosh  for  theirs.  Only  when  the  belief  should  grow  up  in 
a  single  god  of  all  peoples,  all-powerful  and  beneficent,  could 
men  feel  wholly  confident  in  his  strength.  Such  a  belief  grew 
up  in  several  places,  under  the  influence  of  somewhat  differ- 
ing causes.  But  the  monotheism  of  the  Greeks  was  too  spec- 
ulative, too  lacking  in  roots  in  the  soil,  to  spread  far  beyond 
the  circle  of  the  educated  or  survive  the  overthrow  of  Hel- 
lenic culture.  The  monotheism  of  the  Brahmanic  priests 
was  likewise  too  speculative,  and  lacking  in  warmth  of  hu- 
man interests  and  idealism,  so  that  it  waned  before  the  more 
spiritual  atheism  of  Buddha  —  although  the  hunger  for  a 
God  in  whom  to  trust  quickly  found  another  object  in  the 
worship  of  Buddha  himself. 

But  the  monotheistic  development  of  greatest  ultimate 
1  Cf.  1  Sam.  chap.  15. 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  I  131 

significance  was  that  which  took  place  within  the  Hebrew 
religion.  The  enhancement  of  Jehovah's  powers  until  he 
came  to  be  thought  of  as  the  only  god  worthy  of  worship, 
and  finally  as  the  only  existing  god,  was  a  process  much 
closer  to  the  practical  life  of  men ;  it  was  linked  with  histori- 
cal and  local  events,  and  brought  into  play  the  patriotism 
and  moral  fervor  of  an  intense  and  ardent  people.  Instead 
of  offering  a  vague  hope,  such  as  we  find  in  Marcus  Aurelius, 
that  events  are  ultimately  governed  by  reason  and  therefore 
to  be  patiently,  even  loyally,  acquiesced  in,  it  brought,  in  its 
eventual  form,  a  pledge  to  the  individual  of  the  fulfillment  of 
his  personal  hopes  and  longings.  A  belief  so  inspiring  as  this 
found  ready  and  tenacious  acceptance;  no  wonder  that  it 
swept  over  the  western  world.  What  made  it  prevail  was, 
of  course,  not  any  evidence  of  its  truth,  but  the  immense  con- 
solation and  hope  it  brought  to  the  hearts  of  men. 

The  prevailing  power  of  the  higher  moral  conceptions  in  a 
religion  is  to  be  seen  in  the  rise  of  many  faiths,  as,  notably, 
Zoroastrianism  and  Buddhism.  But  its  most  striking  exam- 
ple is  the  prophetic  movement  among  the  Hebrews,  culmi- 
nating in  the  tender  and  noble  ideals  of  Christ  and  the  early 
Christians.  The  dominance  of  Christianity  is  to  be  explained 
quite  as  much  on  the  ground  of  the  greater  spirituality  of  its 
ideals  as  on  the  ground  of  its  consolation  and  hope. 

Finally,  the  survival  value  of  rationality  in  a  religion  is 
best  seen  in  the  conflict  of  beliefs  within  Christianity,  and 
the  process,  gradual  but  sure,  by  which  those  forms  of  the 
religion  which  are  most  sharply  in  conflict  with  reason  and 
science  are  becoming  discredited  and  yielding  place  to  inter- 
pretations of  the  faith  that  are  consonant  with  the  intellec- 
tual outlook  of  the  modern  world. 


PART  II 
PSYCHOLOGICAL 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  GOD  OP  EXPERIENCE 

We  have  now  glanced  at  the  most  significant  landmarks 
in  the  history  of  religion,  and  are  in  a  position  to  pick  out  its 
essential  phenomena  for  closer  scrutiny.  Most  prominent, 
perhaps,  among  these  phenomena  is  the  group  of  beliefs  and 
attitudes  and  acts  that  cluster  about  the  concept  of  God. 
And  so  we  may  appropriately  begin  our  psychological  analy- 
sis of  religion  by  asking  what  the  idea  of  God  has  meant  to 
men.  We  are  not  yet  to  raise  the  philosophical  —  or  theolog- 
ical —  questions  involved,  to  ask  what  the  objective  nature 
of  God  is,  or  to  explain  metaphysically  his  relation  to  the 
universe.  We  are  to  ask  the  prior  question,  How  is  God  re- 
vealed in  human  experience?  or  —  to  put  it  in  other  terms 
—  What  in  our  human  experience  gives  us  the  concept  of 
God?  For  the  place  that  the  thought  of  God  has  in  religion 
does  not  depend  primarily  upon  any  theory,  and  is  not  a 
mere  matter  of  postulates  or  hopes  or  a  blind  act  of  credulity. 
It  rests  rather  upon  a  solid  foundation  of  experience.  God- 
experiences  (if  we  may  use  the  phrase)  are  primary,  God- 
theories  are  secondary.  And  even  if  our  theorizing,  our 
theistic  arguments  and  theodicies,  reach  no  conclusion  satis- 
factory to  the  intellect,  these  significant  experiences  remain 
indisputable  and  precious;  even  were  we  to  give  up  the  name 
God,  the  Reality  which  we  seek  to  express  thereby  would 
remain,  of  profound  and  momentous  importance  in  the  reli- 
gious life  of  man. 

How  does  God  appear  in  human  experience? 

I.  God  in  nature.   The  concept  of  God  came  into  exist- 
ence historically,  as  we  saw  in  our  opening  chapter,  in  three 


136  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

principal  ways;  it  was  the  crystallization  of  the  awe  and  rev- 
erence and  fear  and  hope  felt  in  the  contemplation  of  na- 
ture, in  the  thought  of  deceased  heroes  believed  to  be  still 
alive,  in  the  response  to  the  inward  pressure  of  conscience. 
Here  already,  in  the  convergence  of  these  three  great  streams 
of  mental  tendency,  we  may  detect  the  basic  source  of  the 
Christian  doctrine  of  the  Trinity.  God  about  us  and  beyond 
us,  in  the  vastness  of  the  cosmic  life;  God  in  Christ,  the 
highest  type  of  human  hero,  who  sums  up  in  himself,  as  it 
were,  the  spiritual  power  in  other  lives  upon  which  we  must 
lean ;  God  in  our  own  hearts,  the  Holy  Spirit  in  us,  to  which 
we  must  give  our  whole  allegiance  if  we  would  find  lasting 
satisfaction  and  peace  —  our  modern  trinitarian  conception, 
derived  as  it  has  been  by  a  devious  and  blind  process  of  intu- 
ition and  reflection,  has  after  all  departed  not  so  very  far 
from  primitive  man's  spontaneous  reactions  to  the  great  and 
mysterious  forces  without  and  within  him. 

Man's  earliest  attitudes  toward  nature  took  a  polytheistic 
bent,  because  the  world  seems  at  first  an  arena  in  which  mul- 
titudinous diverse  forces  act  and  react  upon  one  another. 
But  in  proportion  as  the  world-life  becomes  understood,  its 
underlying  unity  becomes  manifest;  and  so,  by  whatever 
roads  monotheism  is  reached,  and  from  whatever  causes  it 
wins  ascendency  in  men's  hearts,  it  does  certainly  best  fit 
in  with  our  modern  thought  of  the  world  as  a  universe.  This 
universe  we  describe,  as  best  we  can,  fragmentarily  and  im- 
perfectly, in  terms  of  natural  law.  But  the  mechanical 
aspect  of  the  world-process  is  but  one  aspect.  From  the 
scientific  point  of  view  the  universe  may  turn  out  to  be 
throughout  a  vast  machine.  But,  if  so,  that  will  still  not  be 
the  whole  story  about  it.  For  our  worldly,  industrial  life 
this  will  be  its  most  important  aspect;  but  not  for  our  emo- 
tional, contemplative,  aesthetic,  moral,  religious  life.  The 
world  will  still  be  infinitely  beautiful,  ineffably  wonderful, 


THE  GOD  OF  EXPERIENCE  137 

endlessly  inspiring;  it  will  still  be  the  source  and  matrix  of 
all  that  is  best  in  us,  and  the  guaranty  of  the  eventual  dom- 
inance of  that  best.  Regular  and  clock-like  as  may  be  the 
processes  of  its  life-history,  that  life  will  nevertheless  be 
moving  on,  irresistibly  and  surely,  toward  the  ideal  that  it 
has  itself  engendered.  Whatever  else  may  be  true  of  the  cos- 
mos, this  also  is  true,  and  is  the  significant  fact  for  our  reli- 
gious life;  it  is  so  constituted  as  to  develop  in  us  a  spiritual 
life,  and  to  push  us,  whether  we  will  or  no,  into  that  spiritual 
life;  it  is  a  world-process  that  makes  toward  an  ideal. 

It  were  a  sad  incident  in  the  intellectual  and  practical  de- 
velopment of  man  if  he  should  lose  this  primitive  awe  and 
humility  before  the  beauty  and  wonder  of  the  world.  "You 
remember  that  fancy  of  Plato's,  of  a  man  who  had  grown  to 
maturity  in  some  dark  distance,  and  was  brought  on  a  sud- 
den into  the  upper  air  to  see  the  sun  rise.  What  would  his 
wonder  be,  his  rapt  astonishment  at  the  sight  we  daily  wit-' 
ness  with  indifference!  With  the  free  open  sense  of  a  child, 
yet  with  the  ripe  faculty  of  a  man,  his  whole  heart  would  be 
kindled  by  that  sight,  he  would  discern  it  well  to  be  Godlike, 
his  soul  would  fall  down  in  worship  before  it.  .  .  .  This  green, 
flowery,  rock-built  earth,  the  trees,  the  mountains,  rivers, 
many-sounding  seas;  —  that  great  deep  sea  of  azure  that 
swims  overhead;  the  winds  sweeping  through  it;  the  black 
cloud  fashioning  itself  together,  now  pouring  out  fire,  now 
hail  and  rain;  what  is  it?  Aye,  what?  At  bottom  we  do  not 
yet  know;  we  can  never  know  at  all.  It  is  not  by  our  superior 
insight  that  we  escape  the  difficulty;  it  is  by  our  superior 
levity,  our  inattention,  our  want  of  insight.  It  is  by  not 
thinking  that  we  cease  to  wonder  at  it.  .  .  .  This  world,  after 
all  our  science  and  sciences,  is  still  a  miracle,  wonderful,  in- 
scrutable, magical  and  more,  to  whosoever  will  think  of  it. 
.  .  .  What  is  it?  Ah,  an  unspeakable,  Godlike  thing;  toward 
which  the  best  attitude  for  us,  after  never  so  much  science, 


138  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

is  awe,  devout  prostration  and  humility  of  soul;  worship, 
if  not  in  words,  then  in  silence.  .  .  .  To  primeval  men,  all 
things  and  everything  they  saw  exist  beside  them  were  an 
emblem  of  the  Godlike,  of  some  God.  And  look  what  peren- 
nial fibre  of  truth  was  in  that.  To  us  also,  through  every 
star,  through  every  blade  of  grass,  is  not  a  God  made  visible, 
if  we  will  open  our  minds  and  eyes?  .  .  .  Every  object  has  a 
divine  beauty  in  it  ...  is  a  window  through  which  we  may 
look  into  Infinitude  itself."  l 

The  great  seers  and  poets  have  been  men  who  have  felt 
more  vividly  than  the  average  man  the  presence  of  this  God 
"in  whom  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being."  To  the 
psalmist  "the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God";  for 
Wordsworth  there  is  in  nature 

"A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things."  2 

In  similar  vein  Max  Miiller  writes,  "Look  at  the  dawn,  and 
forget  for  a  moment  your  astronomy;  and  I  ask  you  whether, 
when  the  dark  veil  of  the  night  is  slowly  lifted,  and  the  air 
becomes  transparent  and  alive,  and  light  streams  forth,  you 
know  not  whence,  you  would  not  feel  that  your  eye  were 
looking  into  the  very  eye  of  the  Infinite?"  And  Emerson, 
"If  the  stars  should  appear  one  night  in  a  thousand  years, 
how  would  men  believe  and  adore;  and  preserve  for  many 

1  Carlyle,  Heroes  and.  Hero  Worship:  The  Hero  as  Divinity. 

2  Wordsworth's  religion  seems  to  have  been  based  almost  exclusively 
upon  this  nature-worship,  this  joyful  recognition  of  the  divineness  of  the 
natural  world.  And  it  seems  to  have  been  a  stimulating  and  satisfactory 
religion.   See  Seeley,  pp.  94-102. 


THE  GOD  OF  EXPERIENCE  139. 

generations  the  remembrance  of  the  city  of  God  which  had 
been  shown!  But  every  night  come  out  these  envoys  of 
beauty,  and  light  the  universe  with  their  admonishing  smile. 
.  .  .  All  natural  objects  make  a  kindred  impression,  when  the 
mind  is  open  to  their  influence.  ...  In  the  woods,  we  return 
to  reason  and  faith.  Standing  on  the  bare  ground,  —  my 
head  bathed  by  the  blithe  air,  and  uplifted  into  infinite 
space,  —  all  mean  egotism  vanishes.  I  become  a  transparent 
eyeball;  I  am  nothing;  I  see  all;  the  currents  of  the  Univer- 
sal Being  circulate  through  me;  I  am  part  or  particle  of 
God."  l 

In  such  moments  of  insight  the  religious  man  finds  an 
added  inspiration  in  the  thought  that  he  is  himself  a  part  of 
this  divine  order  which  overwhelms  his  imagination,  caught 
by  the  same  resistless  currents  of  being,  and  sharing  the 
universal  destinies.  No  amount  of  scientific  analysis  and  de- 
scription can  annul  the  truth  of  these  hours  of  vision.  And 
so,  "when  men  say,  'As  for  God,  we  know  nothing  of  him; 
science  knows  nothing  of  him;  it  is  a  name  belonging  to  an 
extinct  system  of  philosophy ' ;  I  think  they  are  playing  with 
words.  By  what  name  they  call  the  object  of  their  contem- 
plation is  in  itself  a  matter  of  little  importance.  Whether 
they  say  God,  or  prefer  to  say  Nature,  the  important  thing 
is  that  their  minds  [be]  filled  with  the  sense  of  a  Power  to  all 
appearance  infinite  and  eternal,  a  Power  to  which  their 
own  being  is  inseparably  connected,  in  the  knowledge  of 
whose  ways  alone  is  safety  and  wTellbeing,  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  which  they  find  a  beatific  vision.  ...  I  cannot  believe 
any  religion  to  be  healthy  that  does  not  start  from  Nature- 
worship."  2 

II.  God  in  our  hearts  —  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  contempla- 
tive side  of  religion,  the  vision  of  God  in  nature,  is  important 
and  abiding.  But  the  directest  avenue  to  God  is  through 
1  Nature,  chap.  i.  2  Seeley,  pp.  22,  24. 


140  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

obedience;  he  is  not  so  much  in  the  wind  or  the  earthquake 
or  the  fire  as  in  the  still,  small  voice  within  us;  and  it  is  the 
pure  in  heart  that  see  God.  In  the  uprush  of  noble  feeling 
and  high  resolve,  in  the  power  for  good  that  wells  up,  some- 
times so  unexpectedly,  within  us,  God  is  most  surely  re- 
vealed. It  matters  little  whether  this  inflow  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  can  be  described  or  not  in  natural  terms;  the  Spirit  is 
holy  not  because  of  its  miraculous  way  of  working,  but  be- 
cause its  influence  in  our  life  is  divine.  The  practically  sig- 
nificant fact  is  that  if  we  open  our  hearts,  God  will  enter  in 
and  regenerate  our  lives;  this  power  is  ready  for  our  use  if 
we  will  cease  to  kick  against  the  pricks,  and  lay  hold  of  it. 
There,  within  us,  is  to  be  found  not  only  our  selfishness  and 
our  passion,  but  at  least  a  seed  of  the  Divine  Will;  and  so  all- 
important  is  this  fact  that  religion  has  been  defined  as  the 
life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man.  Even  when  he  sins  and  for- 
gets God,  this  fountain  of  good  is  still  invisibly  within  him, 
abiding  even  amid  the  riot  and  jungle  of  his  inmost  life,  ever 
and  again  reminding  him  that  there  is  a  law  above  his  own 
will  which  he  may  not,  at  his  peril,  disobey. l 

By  the  "  fear  of  God  "  truly  religious  men  have  meant,  not 
their  terror  at  a  hostile  environment,  but  their  recognition 
of  the  authority  of  this  higher  law  over  their  capricious  wills. 
The  direction  conduct  must  take  is  not  to  be  decided  by  our 
impulse  or  fancy;  it  is  decreed  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world.  If  we  infringe  these  eternal  laws,  framed  in  the  very 
constitution  of  the  universe,  we  cannot  escape  the  penalty. 
"The  fear  of  the  Lord  —  that  is  wisdom;  to  depart  from  evil 

1  Cf .  Emerson, "  It  is  a  secret  which  every  intelligent  man  quickly  learns, 
that  beyond  the  energy  of  his  possessed  and  conscious  intellect,  he  is  capa- 
ble of  a  new  energy  (as  of  an  intellect  doubled  on  itself)  by  abandonment  to 
the  nature  of  things;  that  besides  his  power  as  an  individual  man,  there  is  a 
great  public  power  upon  which  he  can  draw,  by  unlocking  at  all  risks  his 
human  doors,  and  suffering  the  ethereal  tides  to  roll  and  circulate  through 
him." 


THE  GOD  OF  EXPERIENCE  1-tl 

is  understanding."  l  "  O  Lord,  I  know  that  the  way  of  man 
is  not  in  himself;  it  is  not  in  man  that  walketh  to  direct  his 
steps."  2  That  this  unescapable  authority  of  God  has  been 
supposed  to  imply  a  literal  oral  command  by  a  "magnified, 
non-natural  man,"  a  tribal  patron-god  speaking  from  his 
home  on  his  Sacred  Mountain,  need  not  disturb  us;  though 
no  finger  of  Jehovah  wrote  the  decalogue,  it  is  no  less  bind- 
ing upon  us.  No  rationalization  of  religion  can  make  duty 
less  divine.  Who  is  the  fool  who  says  there  is  no  God?  He  is 
the  moral  nihilist,  the  cynic,  or  the  worldly  man,  who  laughs 
at  duty  and  follows  the  passions  of  the  moment.  Neverthe- 
less —  "  though  there  be  many  devices  in  a  man's  heart,  the 
counsel  of  the  Lord,  that  shall  stand."  3 

But  this  fear  of  God,  in  the  truly  devout  and  aspiring  soul, 
becomes  the  deepest  joy;  in  loyalty  to  the  God  within  him 
he  finds  the  only  road  to  lasting  peace.  He  is  now  bound  to 
his  brother-men  by  the  deepest  bond;  for  the  God-element 
in  him  is  akin  to  that  in  them,  a  spark  from  the  same  eternal 
fire.  Each  separate  reaching  out  for  the  good,  each  act  of 
self-sacrifice,  is  felt  not  as  standing  alone,  but  as  a  part  of 
the  seeking  and  working  of  mankind  toward  God;  or,  to  put 
it  the  other  way,  as  a  part  of  the  gradual  realization  of  God 
in  human  life. 

1  Job  28 :  28.  The  peculiarity  of  Hebrew  poetry  by  which  the  second  line 
of  a  couplet  repeats  the  meaning  of  the  first  line  in  other  words  shows 
clearly  the  practical  equivalence  in  the  poet's  mind  of  the  two  phrases. 
Indeed,  in  Prov.  8:13  we  read,  "The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  to  hate  evil." 

2  Jer.  10:23. 

3  Prov.  19 :  21.  Cf.  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma,  pp.  Ill,  38:  "The  idea 
of  God,  as  it  is  given  us  in  the  Bible,  rests  not  on  a  metaphysical  conception 
.  .  .  but  on  a  moral  perception  of  a  rule  of  conduct  not  of  our  own  making, 
into  which  we  are  born,  and  which  exists  whether  we  will  or  no;  of  awe  at 
its  grandeur  and  necessity,  and  of  gratitude  at  its  beneficence."  "To 
please  God,  to  serve  God,  to  obey  God's  will,  means  to  follow  a  law  of 
things  which  is  found  in  conscience,  and  which  is  an  indication,  irrespective 
of  our  arbitrary  wish  and  fancy,  of  what  we  ought  to  do.  There  is  a  real 
power  which  makes  for  righteousness;  and  it  is  the  greatest  of  realities  for  us." 


142  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

///.  God  in  Christ.  But  if  in  some  degree  in  all  of  us  the 
Holy  Spirit  lives,  it  is  especially  incarnate  in  the  spiritual 
heroes  of  mankind;  and  above  all  —  for  us,  at  least,  of  Chris- 
tendom —  in  Christ.  "  Somehow  Jesus  seems  to  sum  up  and 
focus  the  religious  ideal  for  mankind";  1  he  is  the  supreme 
incarnation  of  the  Divine  in  human  nature;  so  that  the  words 
could  fitly  be  put  into  his  mouth,  "He  that  hath  seen  me 
hath  seen  the  Father."  2  We  need  not,  therefore,  however 
rationalistic  our  temper,  balk  at  the  phraseology  that  calls 
Christ  divine;  the  truth  that  is  to  be  conveyed  by  such  lan- 
guage is  not  inconsistent  with  a  truly  historical  view  of  his 
life  and  teachings,  and  does  not  necessarily  imply  anything 
miraculous  or  supernatural.  To  the  popular  mind,  indeed, 
Jesus  has  often  figured  as  very  God;  but  the  deity  and  the 
divinity  of  Christ  are  far  from  identical  conceptions.  The 
Church  in  its  official  dogma  has  steadily  clung  to  the  asser- 
tion that  Jesus  was  thoroughly  human;  his  divineness  was 
only  such  as  could  be  expressed  in  a  human  life.  His  will  was 
wholly  merged  with  the  will  of  God,  there  was  no  selfishness 
left  in  him,  no  self-indulgence;  it  was  his  meat  to  do  the  will 
of  the  Father.  The  Christ-life  is  the  divine  life  for  men,  the 
measure  of  the  amount  of  godliness  that  our  nature  is  capable 
of.  To  call  his  life  divine  is  not  in  the  least  to  assert  that 
Jesus  was  born  of  a  virgin,  wrought  miracles,  or  rose  from 
the  tomb;  it  is  an  entirely  different  sort  of  judgment,  a  value- 
judgment.  The  facts  about  his  life  must  be  decided  by  histor- 
ical methods,  as  we  would  sift  the  records  of  the  life  of  any 
other  personage  of  the  past;  no  ardent  believer  or  intrenched 
ecclesiasticism  ought  to  attempt  to  bias  the  impartial  judg- 
ment of  scholars  upon  them.  But  the  question  of  the  divine- 

1  R.  J.  Campbell,  The  New  Theology,  p.  70. 

2  Even  those  who  most  completely  deify  Jesus  do  not  identify  him  with 
the  Father;  so  that  the  sense  of  such  sayings  as  these  clearly  is  not  that 
Jesus  is  God,  but  that  he  is  a  revelation  of  God;  that  if  any  one  wishes  to  see 
what  God  is  like,  he  must  look  at  Jesus. 


THE  GOD  OF  EXPERIENCE  143 

ness  of  this  life  is  to  be  decided  by  men  of  spiritual  vision. 
And  the  verdict  of  truly  religious  men  is  all  but  unanimous; 
the  great  warrior,  the  great  statesman,  the  great  inventor, 
the  great  poet,  have  a  veritable  spark  of  God  in  them;  but 
the  life  that  is  most  truly  divine,  that  most  fully  reaches  up 
to  God,  is  the  life  of  purity  and  charity  and  self-sacrifice. 
Preeminent  among  such  lives,  dazzling  men  of  all  races  and 
degrees  of  culture  for  the  two  millenniums  since  he  lived,  is 
the  life  of  the  carpenter  of  Nazareth. 

In  view  of  the  confusion  in  which  the  popular  mind  —  and 
the  mind,  we  may  add,  of  many  a  theologian  —  has  rested 
on  this  matter,  it  will  be  worth  while  to  make  more  explicit 
what  should  have  been  clear  enough  from  our  study  of  the 
life  of  Christ,  namely,  his  thoroughgoing  humanity.  En- 
crusted as  the  records  are  with  miracles  and  marvels  — 
which  it  is  by  no  means  possible  or  desirable  categorically  to 
deny  —  they  do  not  fail  to  preserve  hints  and  implications 
of  his  normal  human  limitations.  He  shared  the  physical 
weakness  of  men,  being  often  weary  and  depressed,  suffering 
all  the  anguish  of  other  mortals  as  his  cruel  death  drew  near, 
and  lacking  strength  to  carry  his  cross.  He  shared  the  igno- 
rance of  men,  not  only  in  his  boyhood,1  but  throughout  his 
life;  the  hour  when  the  Messianic  Kingdom  was  to  be  in- 
augurated he  said  that  no  man  knew,  not  even  he  himself, 
who  expected  to  play  the  leading  part.2  He  knew  presum- 
ably no  science,  knew  little  of  the  life  and  history  of  the 
world,  shared  the  local  contemporary  beliefs  and  hopes  of  his 
fellows,  was  possessed  in  the  last  months  or  years  of  his  life 
by  a  passionate  conviction  which,  in  its  literal  form,  can  only 
be  called  a  pathetic  delusion.  He  was  tempted,  as  all  men 
are;  and  we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  really,  that  he  was 

1  We  are  told  that  he  "grew  in  wisdom"  (Luke  2:52),  which  implies 
relative  ignorance  at  least  in  his  earlier  years. 

2  Mark  24 :  36. 


144  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

absolutely  without  sin.  Human  nature  is  not  capable  of  om- 
nipotence or  omniscience;  it  is  perhaps  not  capable  of  sin- 
lessness.  But  Christ  can  be  all  the  more  surely  our  model  of 
inspiration  if  we  can  think  of  him  as  facing  life  with  only  such 
resources  and  faculties  as  other  men  have,  and  yet  making 
out  of  them  so  sublime  a  life. 

Nor  do  we  need  to  consider  him  as  altogether  unique  in  his 
divineness;  if  he  said,  "I  and  my  father  are  one,"  he  went  on 
to  pray  that  his  disciples  might  be  one  with  God  even  as  he 
was.  He  summoned  all  men  to  the  divine  life,  he  thought  of 
them  all  as  sons  of  God;  he  was,  as  Paul  said,  but  "  the  first 
born  among  many  brethren,"  :  the  first  to  find  the  secret  of 
life  which  was  open  to  all.  "As  many  as  received  him,  to 
them  gave  he  power  to  become  the  sons  of  God."  2  'The 
works  that  I  do  shall  he  do  also,  and  greater  works  than 
these  shall  he  do."  3  We  all  have  a  spark  at  least  of  the  di- 
vine in  us,  and  may  aim  to  attain  to  the  measure  of  the 
stature  of  the  fullness  of  Christ. 

"Was  Christ  a  man  like  us?   Ah,  let  us  try 
If  we  then  too  can  be  such  men  as  he."  * 

We  may  not  refuse  to  grant  recognition  to  the  divinity  living 
in  many  a  saint  and  prophet;  there  is  no  honor  to  Christ 
in  setting  him  utterly  apart  from  his  brethren. 

Nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of  record,  it  was  Christ  who  has 
done  most  to  save  men;  his  life  remains  in  a  sense  unique 
in  the  realm  of  the  spiritual.  He  not  only  lived  his  life  di- 
vinely, but  he  has  been  ever  since  drawing  men  unto  him. 
Many  humble  Christians  have  come  close  to  the  pattern; 
through  their  lives  also  God  has  been  revealed.  But  after 
all,  they  are  disciples;  Christ  was  master.     He  blazed  the 

1  Rom.  8:29.  2  John  1:  12. 

3  John  14:  12.  Of  course  these  sayings  from  the  Fourth  Gospel  are  not 
quoted  as  Christ's  own  words;  but  they  may  well  echo  genuine  sayings. 

4  Matthew  Arnold,  The  Better  Part. 


THE   GOD  OF   EXPERIENCE  145 

path ;  it  is  easier  to  follow.  And  such  disciples  are  quickest  to 
admit  that  they  have  fallen  short  of  the  pattern.  '  The 
difference  between  the  Man  of  Galilee  of  the  first  century 
and  the  man  of  England  and  America  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, if  I  understand  my  gospels  aright,  is  not  in  inherent 
capacity  to  draw  near  God,  but  in  the  relative  degree  of 
realization  of  a  latent  power  common  to  humanity.  It  is 
this  that  has  created  the  uniqueness  of  Jesus."  l 

Thus  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity,  however  foreign  to  our 
modern  thought  the  terms  in  which  the  old  creeds  phrase  it, 
has  a  very  real  basis  in  experience.  If  we  try  to  regard  it  as 
the  description  of  a  quasi-human  Being  who  is  three  persons 
and  yet  one,  we  may  well  balk  at  such  an  amazing  example 
of  the  Greek  genius  for  speculative  subtleties.  But  if  we  take 
the  conception  in  its  inner  and  rational  sense,  we  shall  recog- 
nize that  Christians  attain  to  the  vision  of  God  in  three  lead- 
ing ways  —  through  the  contemplation  of  the  outer  world, 
through  obedience  to  the  Holy  Spirit  in  their  hearts,  and 
through  faith  in  their  Master  Christ. 

What  is  the  nature  of  God  as  thus  revealed? 

God  is  usually  conceived  by  the  Christian  as  having  con- 
sciousness, will,  and  emotions,  as  possessed  of  omniscience, 
omnipotence,  and  omnipresence,  and  as  creator  and  ruler  of 
the  universe.  Some  of  the  arguments  which  are  commonlv 
offered  in  support  of  belief  in  these  various  attributes  of  God 
we  shall  discuss  in  due  course.  But  it  is  only,  at  best,  by 
some  process  of  deduction  that  we  can  hope  to  arrive  at  such 
conceptions ;  as  actually  revealed  in  experience,  God  is  — 
what  we  have  just  pointed  out.  God  is  the  great  Power  that 
we  see  making  for  good  in  the  world,  that  lives  indestructibly 
in  our  own  hearts,  that  burst  into  radiant  flame  in  the  soul 
1  Rev.  Anson  Phelps  Stokes,  in  the  Outlook,  vol.  97,  p.  505. 


146  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

of  Christ.  The  laws  by  which  this  Good  works  through  the 
long  evolutionary  process  we  can  dimly  discern;  its  supreme 
importance  we  universally  acknowledge;  but  what  its  ulti- 
mate nature,  source,  and  goal  may  be  is  not  writ  upon  the 
face  of  experience.  We  may  then  sympathize  with  Arnold's 
protest  against  the  current  "insane  license  of  affirmation 
about  God";  and,  on  the  other  hand,  be  tolerant  and  open- 
minded  toward  those  conceptions  of  God  —  pantheistic, 
deistic,  naturalistic,  or  what  not  —  which  are  alien  to  that 
conception  to  which  we  have  grown  accustomed.1 

But  because  we  do  not  agree  in  our  ideas  of  the  objective 
nature  of  God,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  there  is  any  doubt 
of  God's  reality.  On  the  contrary,  when  men  call  themselves 
atheists  and  speak  of  the  belief  in  God  as  exploded,  it  is 
some  specific  and  elaborated  conception  of  God  of  which 
they  are  thinking,  and  which  they  mean  to  deny.  And  al- 
though belief  or  disbelief  in  the  personality  or  the  omnipo- 
tence of  God,  for  example,  is  a  matter  for  most  serious 
thought,  we  must  insist  that  to  be  unconvinced  of  these  at- 
tributes is  not  at  all  to  doubt  the  vital  reality  of  God  in  the 
world  and  in  our  lives.2   There  are  hypotheses  about  God, 

1  Cf.  Arnold  further  {Literature  and  Dogma,  pp.  10-11),  "People  use 
[the  term  "God"]  as  if  it  stood  for  a  perfectly  definite  and  ascertainable 
idea,  from  which  we  might,  without  more  ado,  extract  propositions  and 
draw  inferences,  just  as  we  should  from  any  other  definite  and  ascertained 
idea.  .  .  .  But,  in  truth,  the  word  '  God'  is  used  in  most  cases  as  by  no  means 
a  term  of  science  or  exact  knowledge,  but  a  term  of  poetry  and  eloquence, 
a  term  throun  out,  so  to  speak,  at  a  not  fully  grasped  object  of  the  speaker's 
consciousness,  a  literary  term,  in  short;  and  mankind  mean  different  things 
by  it  as  their  consciousness  differs." 

2  Cf.  Seeley,  pp.  43-44,  104,  41,  50.  "Controversies  may  be  raised  about 
the  human  as  well  as  about  the  Divine  Being.  Some  may  consider  the  hu- 
man body  as  the  habitation  of  a  soul  distinct  and  separable  from  it;  some 
may  maintain  that  man  is  merely  the  collective  name  for  a  number  of  proc- 
esses. ...  All  these  differences  may  be  almost  as  important  as  they  seem 
to  the  disputants  who  are  occupied  about  them;  but  after  all,  they  do  not 
affect  the  fact  that  the  human  being  is  there,  and  they  do  not  prevent  us 
from  regarding  him  with  strong  feelings.    The  same  is  true  of  the  Divine 


THE   GOD   OF  EXPERIENCE  147 

there  may  be  a  childlike  trust  in,  say,  Christ's  conception 
of  God,  there  may  be  a  hundred  reasons  for  pinning  our  faith 
to  this  or  that  theistic  doctrine;  but  underneath  these  over- 
beliefs  rests  the  basic  fact  that  God  exists  —  that  there  is  an 
Ideal  working  itself  out  in  the  historic  process,  a  great  Power 
irresistibly  drawing  us  on  to  some  far  off  and  unknown  goal, 
and  demanding  our  entire  allegiance. 

If  we  are  tempted  to  become  skeptical  and  discard  the 
thought  of  God  because  we  do  not  know  what  he  is  in  him- 
self, we  must  remember  that  we  know  nothing  of  what  any- 
thing is  in  itself,  except  our  own  conscious  stream  as  it 
passes.  These  material  things  that  surround  us  we  know 
only  in  terms  of  the  qualities  that  our  sense-organs  give 
them.  To  a  color-blind  man  the  red  flower  is  gray;  to  other 
eyes  it  might  be  blue;  what  is  it  for  itself?  We  absolutely  do 
not  know.  Or  what  is  electricity?  No  one  doubts  its  reality: 
we  see  it  illuminating  the  arc-light,  moving  our  trolley-cars, 
carrying  our  voices  over  the  wires.  But  what  is  it?  We  talk 
of  electrons,  of  the  ether;  but  what  are  they?  When  we  see 
the  forked  lightning,  we  say  "electricity,"  we  recognize  the 
presence  of  a  great  power.  When  we  see  a  sinner  saved  sud- 

Being."  "An  age  which  is  called  atheistic,  and  in  which  atheism  is  loudly 
professed,  shows  in  all  its  imaginative  literature  a  religiousness  —  a  sense 
of  the  Divine  —  which  was  wanting  in  the  more  orthodox  ages.  Before 
Church  traditions  had  been  freely  tested,  there  was  one  rigid  way  of  think- 
ing about  God.  .  .  .  Accordingly,  when  doubt  was  thrown  upon  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Church,  there  seemed  an  imminent  danger  of  atheism,  and  we 
have  still  the  habit  of  denoting  by  this  name  the  denial  of  that  conception  of 
God  which  the  Church  has  consecrated.  But  by  the  side  of  this  gradual 
obscuring  of  the  ecclesiastical  view  of  God,  there  has  gone  on  a  gradual  re- 
discovery of  Him  in  another  aspect.  .  .  .  The  modern  views  of  God,  so  far 
as  they  go,  have  a  reality  —  a  freshness  that  the  others  wanted.  .  .  .  His 
presence  is  felt  really  and  not  merely  asserted  in  hollow  professions."  "Of 
atheism,  that  demoralizing  palsy  of  human  nature,  which  consists  in  the 
inability  to  discern  in  the  Universe  any  law  by  which  human  life  may  be 
guided,  there  is  in  the  present  age  less  danger  than  ever."  "Atheism  in  its 
full  sense  will  become  a  thing  impossible  when  no  man  shall  be  altogether 
without  the  sense,  at  once  inspiring  and  sobering,  of  an  eternal  order." 


148  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

denly  from  despair  and  filled  with  a  humble  consciousness  of 
victory  over  sin,  we  say  "Gbd";  we  recognize  the  presence 
of  a  power  of  vastly  greater  significance  and  far  more  worthy 
of  our  adoration.  It  is  not  a  question  of  argument  or  proof, 
it  is  a  question  of  sight;  God  is  not  a  hypothesis  but  a 

fact. 

Nor  need  we  fret  because  our  immediate  knowledge  of  God 
is  so  limited;  we  know  what  it  is  necessary  that  we  should 
know.  We  know  that  we  are  not  alone  in  our  endeavors,  not 
futilely  setting  up  mere  subjective  aspirations;  the  universe 
is  on  the  side  of  our  better  selves.  We  know  that  at  all  costs 
we  must  follow  the  gleam.1 

It  would  be  foolish,  then,  and  fraught  with  danger,  to  cease 
from  thinking  and  speaking  of  God  because  much  of  unso- 
phisticated man's  thought  of  God  is  shown  to  be  naive  and 
a  projection  of  his  own  imagination.  "  To  seek  to  discard, 
like  some  philosophers,  the  name  of  God  and  to  substitute 
for  it  such  a  name  as  the  Unknowable,  will  seem  to  a  plain 
man,  surely,  ridiculous.  For  ...  no  man  could  ever  have 
cared  anything  about  God  in  so  far  as  he  is  simply  unknow- 
able. .  .  .  Men  cared  about  God  for  the  sake  of  what  they 
knew  about  him,  not  of  what  they  did  not.  ...  It  adds,  in- 
deed, to  our  awe  of  God  that  although  we  are  able  to  know  of 
him  what  so  greatly  concerns  us,  we  know  of  him  nothing 
more;  but  simply  to  be  able  to  know  nothing  of  him  could 
beget  in  us  no  awe  whatever.  .  .  .  Everything  turns  on  its 
being  at  realities  that  this  worship  and  its  language  are 

1  Cf.  John  Fiske,  Cosmic  Philosophy,  vol.  n,  p.  470:  "Deity  is  unknow- 
able just  in  so  far  as  it  is  not  manifested  to  consciousness  through  the  phe- 
nomenal world,  —  knowable  just  in  so  far  as  it  is  thus  manifested  .  .  . 
knowable,  in  a  symbolic  way,  as  the  Power  which  is  disclosed  in  every  throb 
of  the  mighty  rhythmic  life  of  the  universe;  knowable  as  the  eternal  source 
of  a  Moral  Law  which  is  implicated  with  each  action  of  our  lives.  .  .  .  Thus, 
though  we  may  not  by  searching  find  out  God,  though  we  may  not  compass 
infinitude  or  attain  to  absolute  knowledge,  we  may  at  least  know  all  that  it 
concerns  us  to  know,  as  intelligent  and  responsible  beings." 


THE  GOD   OF   EXPERIENCE  149 

aimed.  Its  anthropomorphic  language  about  God  is  aimed 
at  a  vast,  though  ill-apprehended,  reality."  *  God  is  a  real- 
ity; and  we  must  remember  that  though  our  actual  experi- 
ence of  God  be  narrowly  limited,  he  may  none  the  less  be  all 
that  the  faith  of  the  saints  has  deemed  him  to  be  —  and  how 
much  more  that  we  cannot  now  imagine,  that  it  hath  not 
entered  into  the  mind  of  man  to  conceive!  2 

But  however  this  may  be,  the  important  thing  is,  not  to 
assent  to  the  truth  of  God's  existence,  but  to  feel  his  reality 
and  be  dominated  by  it;  to  recognize  a  Law  above  our  pri- 
vate wills,  to  cast  aside  all  willfulness  and  cynicism  and  little- 
mindedness,  to  acknowledge  the  infinite  worth  of  life  and  the 
infinite  importance  of  duty.  The  true  atheism  is  a  want  of 
belief  in  the  meaning  and  value  of  life,  a  refusal  to  join  forces 
with  the  great  tides  that  are  making  for  good  in  the  world;  a 
despair  of  human  life  and  a  deafness  to  its  summons.  There 
is  no  merit  or  value  in  a  belief  in  God  that  makes  no  practi- 
cal difference;  the  only  important  thing  is  to  get  into  our 
lives  the  great  experiences  and  the  vital  faith  which  that 
word  connotes.  For  though  our  definitions  of  God  be  differ- 
ent, and  our  opinions  about  him  vary  from  age  to  age,  if  we 
have  the  fear  and  love  of  God  in  our  hearts,  our  theological 
opinions  are  of  little  moment. 

1  Arnold,  God  and  the  Bible,  Preface.  Cf.  E.  Renan,  Intolerance  in  Scep- 
ticism (in  The  Poetry  of  the  Celtic  Races  and  Other  Studies) :  "The  word  God 
being  respected  by  humanity,  having  for  it  a  long-acquired  right,  and  hav- 
ing been  employed  in  all  beautiful  poetry,  to  abandon  it  would  be  to  over- 
throw all  habits  of  language.  Tell  the  simple  to  pass  their  lives  in  aspiration 
after  truth,  and  beauty,  and  moral  goodness;  and  your  words  will  be  mean- 
ingless to  them.  Tell  them  to  love  God,  and  not  to  offend  God;  and  they 
will  understand  you  perfectly. .  .  .  Even  supposing  that  for  us  philosophers 
another  word  were  preferable,  and  without  taking  into  account  the  fact 
that  abstract  words  do  not  express  real  existence  with  sufficient  clarity, 
there  would  be  an  immense  inconvenience  in  thus  cutting  ourselves  away 
from  all  the  poetic  sources  of  the  past,  and  in  separating  ourselves  by  our 
language  from  the  simple  folk  who  worship  so  well  in  their  own  way." 

2  For  our  right  to  these  further  beliefs  about  God,  see  below,  pp.  402-11. 


150  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

God  in  human  experience:  T.  H.  Green,  Witness  of  God  (in  Two 
Sermons).  J.  B.  Pratt,  Psychology  of  Religious  Belief,  chaps,  ix-x. 
G.  A.  Coe,  Religion  of  a  Mature  Mind,  chap.  xin.  M.  Arnold,  Liter- 
ature and  Dogma,  chap.  i.  God  and  the  Bible,  Preface,  and  chaps. 
i-iii.  J.  R.  Seeley,  Natural  Religion,  pt.  i.  W.  E.  Hocking,  Mean- 
ing of  God  in  Human  Experience,  pt.  iv.  O.  Kuhns,  Sense  of  the 
Infinite.  H.  A.  Youtz,  Enlarging  Conception  of  God.  Hibbert  Jour- 
nal, vol.  11,  p.  394. 

The  Divinity  of  Christ:  Traditionalistic:  W.  Sanday,  Christologies, 
Ancient  and  Modern.  W.  N.  Clarke,  Outline  of  Christian  Theology, 
pt.  iv.  O.  A.  Curtis,  The  Christian  Faith,  chaps,  xvi-xvii.  A.  W. 
Moore,  Rational  Basis  of  Orthodoxy,  chap.  vn.  J.  Caird,  Funda- 
mental Ideas  of  Christianity,  lectures  xm-xv.  Modern:  Founda- 
tions, chap.  v.  E.  H.  Rowland,  Right  to  Believe,  chap.  iv.  R.  J. 
Campbell,  New  Theology,  chaps,  v,  vn.  J.  V.  Morgan,  ed.,  Theology 
at  the  Daivn  of  the  Twentieth  Century,  pp.  249-58.  G.  A.  Gordon, 
Christ  of  To-day.  Youtz,  op.  cit.,  chap.  vi.  New  World,  vol.  1,  p.  14. 
Biblical  World,  vol.  43,  p.  295.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol. 
8,  p.  9;  vol.  11,  p.  290;  vol.  15,  p.  584.    Outlook,  vol.  97,  p.  503. 

The  Trinity:  Traditionalistic:  Clarke,  op.  cit,  pt.  I,  sec.  iv;  The 
Christian  Doctrine  of  God,  chap,  n,  sec.  7.  Curtis,  op.  cit.,  chap, 
xxxvi.  Modern:  Campbell,  op.  cit.,  chap.  VI.  C.  C.  Everett,  The- 
ism and  the  Christian  Faith,  chap.  xxvi.  L.  Abbott,  Letters  to 
Unknown  Friends,  p.  29  /.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  12, 
p.  609;  vol.  16,  p.  528. 


CHAPTER  X 

SACRIFICE  AND  SIN 

Intimately  wrapped  up  with  the  concept  of  God  are  the 
allied  concepts  of  sacrifice,  sin,  and  salvation,  which  play  a 
large  role  in  the  religious  life.  Born,  like  the  idea  of  God, 
from  the  superstition  and  fear  of  primitive  life,  and  having 
at  the  outset  no  spiritual  value,  these  concepts  have,  like  it, 
become  gradually  moralized  until,  in  their  highest  expres- 
sions, they  embody  the  noblest  aspirations  of  the  soul. 

What  is  the  history  of  the  concepts  of  sacrifice  and  sin? 

(1)  Primitive  sacrifice  l  was  an  outward  and  unspiritual 
act,  performed  in  the  hope  of  winning  the  favor  of  the  gods 
or  averting  harm  from  them.  Their  disfavor  is  not  at  first 
attributed  to  men's  sins,  but  is  as  capricious  and  irrational 
as  the  thunderbolts  and  storms  and  famines  that  are  their 
weapons.  Like  the  exacting  and  easily  irritated  tribal  chiefs, 
they  must  be  kept  placated,  must  be  propitiated'  if  they 
become  angry  or  for  their  own  reasons  threaten  damage  to 
the  community  or  to  the  individual.2  All  important  under- 
takings require  their  help,  or  at  least  their  non-interference, 
and  must  therefore  be  initiated  by  some  offering  to  them.3 
If  the  undertaking  prospers,  tribute  must,  in  gratitude  and 
with  an  eye  to  future  favors,  be  awarded  them.4  If  any  act 

1  I  do  not  mean  to  discuss  the  moot  question,  what  the  earliest  form  of 
sacrifice  was.  I  am  content  to  go  back  to  the  conceptions  embodied  in 
the  earlier  strata  of  the  Old  Testament. 

2  Cf.  1  Sam.  26:  19.   Gen.  8:  20.   Mai.  1: 14. 
8  Gen.  46: 1.    Num.  chap.  7. 

4  Gen.  4:3-4.    Lev.  7:  12;  21 :  29.    Ps.  116:  17. 


152  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

unpleasing  to  them  has  been,  however  unwittingly,  com- 
mitted, it  must  be  promptly  expiated,  by  the  sacrifice  of 
something  precious  to  the  worshipers  and  therefore  to  them.1 
The  commonest  offering  is  that  of  food;  the  god  enjoys  the 
savory  smell  or  in  some  invisible  manner  partakes  of  it.2 
This  sharing  of  a  meal  with  the  god  forms  a  bond  between 
him  and  his  worshipers;  the  notion  of  a  blood-covenant  thus 
ratified  is  found  in  many  lands.3 

So  imminent  loomed  the  potential  wrath  of  the  gods,  and 
so  anxiously  was  their  assistance  sought  in  the  pressing 
struggles  of  early  times,  that  among  many  peoples  no  animal 
food  was  eaten  without  the  offering  of  a  due  share  to  them; 
and  multitudes  of  priests  lived  at  ease  upon  these  offerings 
of  their  fellows'  fear  and  credulity.  In  particular,  any  marked 
success  might  provoke  the  envy  of  the  gods;  or  else  it  was 
due  to  their  help;  in  either  case  it  had  to  be  followed  by  an 
apportionment  to  them  of  their  share  of  the  proceeds.  The 
Jewish  law  required  the  sacrifice  of  the  firstborn  of  every 
domestic  animal,  and  the  firstfruits  of  every  harvest.  Even 
the  sacrifice  of  the  firstborn  child  lingered  into  historic  times 
in  Israel;  though  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  Abraham  it  had 
generally  been  commuted  by  the  substitution  of  an  animal.4 

("2)  Sacrifice  as  propitiation,  tribute,  or  covenant  has 
nothing  religious,  in  the  better  sense  of  the  word,  about  it; 
it  is  simply  an  act  of  worldly  wisdom,  involving  no  change  of 
heart.  Unhappily,  such  an  unspiritual  conception  of  sacri- 
fice has  not  yet  been  entirely  outgrown;  the  Jewish  idea 
of  the  scapegoat5  persists  in  the  theological  conception  of 

1  Lev.  4:6;  chap.  16. 

2  Gen.  8:  '21.    Lev.  1 :  9,  13,  17.    Ex.  29: 18. 

3  Ex.  12:3/.    Ps.  50:5. 

4  Cf.  the  reminiscence  in  Gen.  22:  1-13.  For  lingering  instances  of  hu- 
man sacrifice,  see  2  Kings  3:27;  17:31;  23:  10.  2  Chron.  28:3.  Ezek. 
16:  20-21.    See  American  Journal  of  Religiovs  Psychology,  vol.  2,  p.  24. 

5  See  Lev.  chap.  16. 


SACRIFICE  AND   SIN  153 

Christ  as  a  propitiatory  sacrifice  to  save  men  from  the  pen- 
alty justly  attaching  to  their  sins.  But  this  merely  exterior 
nature  of  sacrifice  discredited  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  great 
prophets  of  Israel,  and  they  discarded  it  altogether.  Jehovah, 
they  said,  desires  mercy  and  not  sacrifice.  "Hath  Jehovah 
as  great  delight  in  burnt  offerings  and  sacrifices  as  in  obeying 
the  voice  of  Jehovah?  Behold,  to  obey  is  better  than  sacri- 
fice, and  to  hearken  than  the  fat  of  rams."  "Sacrifice  and 
offering  thou  hast  no  delight  in."  "Thou  delightest  not  in 
sacrifice,  else  would  I  give  it;  thou  hast  no  pleasure  in  burnt- 
offering."  "To  do  righteousness  and  justice  is  more  accept- 
able to  Jehovah  than  sacrifice."  "What  unto  me  is  the 
multitude  of  your  sacrifices,  saith  Jehovah;  wash  you,  make 
you  clean,  cease  to  do  evil,  learn  to  do  well."  "For  I  desire 
goodness  and  not  sacrifice." l  This  point  of  view  was  taken 
by  Christ;  and  the  early  Christians  understood  that  the 
whole  Jewish  sacrificial  system  was  definitely  abrogated.2 

(3)  But  while  this  tendency  to  let  the  ancient  custom  of 
sacrifice  lapse  prevailed  ultimately  among  most  peoples, 
among  the  Jews  and  Christians  another  idea  won  its  way, 
namely,  the  transformation  of  sacrifice  from  an  outward  to 
an  inward  matter.  Some  of  the  keenest  Hebrew  moralists 
made  effective  use  of  the  old  phraseology  and  ingrained 
habits  of  the  people  by  demanding,  not  the  abolition  of  sac- 
rifice, but  the  substitution  of  a  new  and  higher  form  of  sac- 
rifice. "Offer  sacrifices  of  righteousness."  "The  sacrifices 
of  God  are  a  broken  spirit;  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart, 
O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise." 3  And  this  new  conception, 
blending  admirably  with  the  Christian  gospel,  found  notable 
expression  in  apostolic  teaching.    What  was  demanded  by 

M  Sam.  15:22.    Ps.  40:  6;  51 :  16.    Prov.  21 :  3.    Isa.  1:11.    Hos.  6:6. 
Cf.  also  Amos  5 :  21  ff.    Mic.  6:6/.    Jer.  6 :  20. 
2  Cf.,  e.g.,  Matt.  9:  13.   Mark  12:  33.   Heb.  10:  4. 
»  Deut.  33:19.   Ps.  4:  5;  51 :  17. 


154  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

God  was  no  longer  a  material  gift,  the  renunciation  of  some 
worldly  possession,  but  the  gift  of  a  pure  and  loving  heart, 
the  renunciation  of  selfish  and  sensual  desires.  "I  beseech 
you,  therefore,  brethren,  to  present  your  bodies  a  living 
sacrifice,  holy,  acceptable  to  God  —  which  is  your  rational 
worship."  "To  do  good  and  to  share  forget  not;  for  with 
such  sacrifices  God  is  well  pleased."  l  To-day  in  the  vener- 
able Greek  and  Ronian  Catholic  churches  the  primitive 
conception  of  penance  and  propitiation  still  to  some  extent 
persists;  but  wherever  liberal  conceptions  of  Christianity 
prevail  it  has  been  quite  supplanted  by  the  more  rational 
and  spiritual  idea.  God  does  not  need  to  be  appeased;  we 
need  to  be  cleansed.  The  eternal  laws  of  life  demand  sacri- 
fice —  not  for  those  laws'  sake,  but  because,  ultimately, 
human  welfare  itself  requires  it.  And  however  pathetic  and 
futile  have  been  most  of  the  renunciations  demanded 
throughout  the  course  of  history  in  the  name  of  religion, 
man  has  been  through  them  stumbling  and  groping  toward 
the  great  truth  that  the  best  way  of  life  is  the  way  of  sacri- 
fice of  desire  —  that  he  must  lose  his  life  who  would  truly 
find  it. 

Parallel  with  this  evolution  of  the  idea  of  sacrifice  has 
gone  an  evolution  of  the  idea  of  sin.  Early  religion  every- 
where includes  a  sense  of  frequent  transgression,  with  an 
accompanying  fear  of  disaster,  attempts  at  purification,  and 
anguish  of  heart.2    There  was  little  thought  of  why  an  act 

1  Rom.  12:  1.    Heb.  13:1(5. 

2  Cf.  E.  L.  Schaub,  in  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  5,  p.  123:  "While 
the  extent  and  nature  of  the  particular  acts  that  are  considered  sinful 
naturally  vary  with  differences  in  intellectual  and  spiritual  development, 
the  consciousness  of  sin  itself,  in  some  form  or  other  and  to  some  degree,  is, 
anthropology  seems  to  teach,  universal  to  all  peoples  of  whom  we  have 
definite  knowledge.  There  is  always  a  more  or  less  explicit  consciousness 
of  a  discrepancy  between  our  actual  life  and  conduct  and  those  ideals  and 
postulates  which  urge  themselves  upon  us  as  objectively  valid." 


SACRIFICE  AND   SIN  155 

was  wrong;  it  was  simply  taboo,  it  must  not  be  done.  Even 
acts  that  were  necessary,  such  as  the  killing  of  enemies,  the 
handling  of  sick  people  and  corpses,  midwifery,  and  the  like, 
produced  a  feeling  of  aversion  and  pollution  and  a  sense  of 
the  need  of  purification;  the  old  Jewish  laws  are  very  exact- 
ing in  their  demands  in  all  such  cases.  Mishaps  were  usually 
attributed  to  some,  perhaps  unconscious,  impropriety;  espe- 
cially tribal  catastrophes  were  a  sign  that  something  had 
been  done  amiss.  As  the  gods  came  to  be  more  and  more 
clearly  personified,  these  transgressions  became  distinctly 
offenses  against  them;  to  learn  to  obey  their  will  became 
an  elaborate  art,  bringing  into  being  oracles,  soothsayers, 
augurs,  and  the  like.  But  still  sin  was  an  outward  matter, 
denoting  no  more  than  ignorant  blunder,  heedless  folly,  for- 
getfulness  or  indifference;  unwitting,  even  well-intentioned 
or  unavoidable  transgression  brought  on  its  penalty  as  well 
as  perverse  or  passionate  disobedience.1  The  sense  of  sin 
was  simply  the  uneasy  feeling  of  having  incurred  punish- 
ment; and  the  rituals  of  purification  had  for  their  object  to 
wipe  off  a  stain  almost  as  material  as  blood  upon  the  hands. 

Here,  too,  however,  the  vision  of  the  Hebrew  prophets  saw 
clearly;  to  them  the  important  matter  was  not  the  outward 
act,  but  the  inward  loyalty  or  disobedience.  Purity  became 
a  matter,  not  of  proper  observance,  but  of  intent,  of  the 
direction  of  desire  and  the  meditations  of  the  heart.  Jesus 
put  it  in  classic  form  in  his  saying,  "There  is  nothing  from 
without  the  man  that  going  into  him  can  defile  him;  but  the 
things  which  proceed  out  of  the  man  are  those  that  defile 
him.  .  .  .  For  from  within,  out  of  the  heart  of  men,  evil 
thoughts  proceed  .  .  .  and  defile  the  man."  2 

A  similar  moralization  of  the  concept  of  sin  and  purity  is 

1  Cf.  the  case  of  Uzzah,  who  was  struck  dead  by  Jehovah  for  his  appar- 
ently well-meant,  and  surely  very  natural  and  instinctive,  movement  to  pre- 
vent the  sacred  Ark  from  toppling  over.    2  Sam.  6 :  6-7.    1  Chron.  13 :  9-10. 

2  Mark  7: 14-23. 


156  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

to  be  traced  in  other  religions.  In  the  Buddhist  scriptures 
we  read,  "Neither  abstinence  from  fish  or  flesh,  nor  going 
naked,  nor  shaving  the  head  .  .  .  nor  sacrifices  to  Agni,  will 
cleanse  a  man.  Reading  the  Vedas,  making  offerings  to 
priests  .  .  .  these  do  not  cleanse  a  man.  Anger,  drunkenness, 
obstinacy,  bigotry  .  .  .  these  constitute  uncleanness."1  In 
the  Zend  Avesta,  "Purity  is  for  man,  next  to  life,  the  highest 
good;  that  purity,  O  Zarathustra,  that  is  in  the  religion  of 
Mazda  for  him  who  cleanses  himself  with  good  thoughts, 
words,  and  deeds."  And  in  the  later  Hellenic  religion  we 
have  sentiments  like  this  from  the  Golden  Song  of  Hierocles, 
"Purity  of  soul  is  the  only  divine  service."  Thus  from  a 
superstitious  uneasiness  at  vague  and  ill-understood  dangers, 
and  a  frantic  search  for  deliverance  from  impinging  pollu- 
tion, there  was  evolved  here  and  there  in  the  clearing  con- 
sciousness of  men  a  loathing  of  those  acts  and  desires  that 
led  them  from  their  own  ideals  and  blurred  their  vision  of 
God. 

What  are  their  dangers? 

The  Emperor  Julian,  cleaving,  in  a  world  rapidly  growing 
Christian,  to  the  sturdy  pagan  ideals,  scorning  the  senti- 
mentalism  and  self-distrust  which  was  becoming  the  fashion, 
is  reported  to  have  said  on  his  deathbed,  "I  die  without 
remorse,  as  I  have  lived  without  sin."  And  many  a  modern 
thinker  —  Sir  Oliver  Lodge  is  one  of  the  latest  —  has  said 
that  men  ought  to  concern  themselves  little  with  sin  and 
sacrifice,  but  rather  with  positive  effort  and  achievement. 
Certainly  the  sense  of  sin  and  the  pursuit  of  purity  have  had 
their  distortions  and  dangers  for  men;  what  these  are  we 
may  now  pause  to  note. 

(1)  Too  dominant  a  sense  of  sin  adds  a  burden  to  life  that 
may  overbalance  the  gain  won  through  the  resulting  power 
1  Amagandha  Sutta,  7:11. 


SACRIFICE  AND   SIN  157 

over  temptation,  and  indeed  may  even  paralyze  effort. 
Religious  chronicles  are  full  of  the  distress  and  overconscien- 
tiousness  and  despair  of  reasonably  good  men.  St.  Paul 
could  call  himself  the  chief  of  sinners; 1  and  a  hundred 
parallels  could  be  found  in  the  utterances  of  the  saints  to 
his  outburst,  "I  know  that  in  me,  that  is,  in  my  flesh,  dwell- 
eth  no  good  thing;  for  to  will  is  present  with  me,  but  to  do 
that  which  is  good,  is  not.  For  the  good  that  I  would  I  do 
not,  but  the  evil  that  I  would  not,  that  I  do.  .  .  .  For  I  de- 
light in  the  law  of  God  in  the  inward  man,  but  I  see  a  differ- 
ent law  in  my  members,  warring  against  the  law  of  my  mind, 
and  bringing  me  into  captivity  under  the  law  of  sin  which  is 
in  my  members.  O  wretched  man  that  I  am!  who  shall  de- 
liver me  out  of  this  mortal  body?"2  Modern  church  litur- 
gies are  full  of  such  sentiments  as,  "We  have  all  sinned  and 
there  is  no  health  in  us."  "Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  miser- 
able sinners! "  There  is  in  this  groveling  and  self -distrusting 
attitude  a  lack  of  grit  or  nerve  which  revolts  the  manly  soul ; 
and  religion,  countenancing  such  flabby  self-abasement,  has 
seemed  to  many  a  morbid  and  sickly  affair. 

(2)  The  longing  for  purity  has  led  some  men  to  a  futile 
asceticism,  wherein  a  cruel  self -repression  has  been  practiced, 
apart  from  its  excuse  in  the  real  needs  of  life.  St.  Simeon 
Stylites  on  his  pillar,  the  whirling  dervishes  of  India,  the 
self-torturing  Mohammedan  fanatics,  the  hermits,  with 
their  ceaseless  scourgings  and  fastings  and  mortifications  of 
the  flesh,  —  these  have  distorted  the  true  spirit  of  religion, 
which  should  bring  men  life,  and  life  more  abundantly.  "An 
overemphasis  upon  self-denial  sacrifices  unnecessarily  the 
sweetness  and  richness  of  life,  stunts  it,  distorts  it,  robs  it  of 
its  natural  fruition.  The  denial  of  any  satisfaction  is  cruel 
except  as  it  is  necessary.    Purity  carried  to  a  needless  ex- 

1  If,  indeed,  the  saying  is  actually  Paul's;  1  Tim.  1: 15. 

2  Rom.  7  :  18-24. 


158  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

treme  became  celibacy;  the  virtue  of  frugality  became  the 
vice  of  a  starvation  diet,  producing  the  emaciated  and  weak- 
ened saints.  The  attempt  radically  to  alter  and  repress 
human  nature  is  nearly  always  disastrous.  Most  of  the 
ascetics  had  to  pass  their  days  in  constant  struggles  against 
their  temptations;  and  many  of  them  recurrently  lapsed 
into  wild  orgies  of  sin,  the  result  of  pent-up  impulses  denied 
their  natural  channels."1  A  pure  religion  rejects  these  de- 
formations of  its  spirit.  In  so  far  as  renunciation  is  necessary 
it  brings  to  it  a  gladness  of  endurance;  beyond  that  stern 
necessity  it  bids  us  not  repress  but  develop  our  natures;  it 
comes  not  to  destroy  but  to  fulfill. 

(3)  Another  distortion  to  which  the  striving  for  purity  is 
subject  lies  in  the  extreme  of  unworldliness.  Worldliness 
consists  in  forgetting  the  ends  of  life  in  absorption  in  the 
means.  The  business  man  who  gives  his  whole  thought  to 
making  money  without  learning  to  use  it  well,  the  ambitious 
politician  who  spends  his  life  in  seeking  office  without  think- 
ing how  through  the  office  he  may  serve  the  people,  the 
woman  who  devotes  her  days  to  dressmakers  and  milliners, 
all  those  whose  minds  are  occupied  with  the  mere  instru- 
ments and  mechanism  of  life,  are  choked  with  the  tares  of 
worldliness.  They  may  live  on  a  higher  plane  than  the  idler 
or  debauche;  they  may  escape  the  worst  pitfalls  of  life;  but 
they  do  not  attain  to  its  highest  rewards.  The  unworldly 
man  sees  deeper  into  life,  lays  hold  of  the  eternal  things; 
if  he  seeks  wealth  or  fame,  or  cultivates  society,  it  is  for  the 
ideal  ends  he  can  attain  therethrough,  for  the  better  service 
of  his  fellows  or  of  God. 

So  far  unworldliness  is  good.  But  it  may  easily  go  too  far, 
becoming  a  dread  of  contamination  by  the  ordinary  machin- 
ery of  life.  When  the  longing  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from 
the  world  leads  a  man  to  become  a  hermit  or  an  idle  monk, 
1  Durant  Drake,  Problems  of  Conduct,  p.  121. 


SACRIFICE  AND  SIN  159 

to  spend  his  days  in  useless  vigils  and  prayers  instead  of 
using  his  strength  for  active  service,  it  may  bring  him  an 
inner  peace;  it  may,  by  removing  him  from  temptation,  keep 
him  from  positive  sin;  but  it  leaves  him  a  useless  encum- 
brance upon  the  earth.  The  truly  religious  man,  though  not 
of  the  world  is  yet  in  it,  sharing  its  burdens,  meeting  its 
temptations,  willingly  letting  himself  be  tainted,  if  need  be, 
by  its  dirt  and  squalor,  so  his  arm  can  be  of  use  and  his 
determination  avail  in  some  degree  for  his  fellows.  The 
anchoritic  and  monastic  ideals  of  the  Middle  Ages  did  enor- 
mous harm  in  absorbing  the  spiritual  enthusiasm  of  the  men 
who  might  otherwise  have  put  their  energies  and  idealism 
into  regenerating  in  some  measure  the  life  of  the  age.1 

What  is  their  permanent  value? 

Morbid  and  perverted  in  such  ways  the  sense  of  sin  and 
the  longing  for  purity  may  become.  We  should  by  all  means 
seek  to  avoid  these  excesses  and  to  cultivate  something  of 
the  healthy  common  sense  of  the  Greeks,  while  following  the 
deeper  insight  and  finer  ideals  of  Christianity.  But  if  not 
carried  too  far,  the  sense  of  sin  and  the  sting  of  remorse  are 
valuable  auxiliaries  to  the  positive  religious  impulse,  never 
without  need  of  every  form  of  help.  For  after  all  is  said,  the 
power  of  temptation  still  remains  strong  for  poor  stumbling 
human  nature;  and  the  religious  life  must  be  for  most  men  a 
militant  life.  If  we  agree  with  Arnold  that  "All  thinking 
about  [sin]  beyond  what  is  indispensable  for  the  firm  effort 
to  get  rid  of  it  is  waste  of  energy  and  waste  of  time,"  we  must 
also  realize  the  truth  of  his  further  words,  "This  sense  of  sin, 
however,  it  is  also  possible  to  have  not  strongly  enough  to 
beget  the  firm  effort  to  get  rid  of  it." 2   The  danger  of  our 

1  For  an  estimate  of  the  good  and  evil  in  monasticism,  see  H.  B.  Work- 
man, The  Evolution  of  the  Monastic  Ideal ;  J.  O.  Hannay,  Spirit  and  Origin 
of  Christian  Monasticism. 

2  Matthew  Arnold,  St.  Paul  and  Protestantism,  chap.  I. 


160  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

times  lies  rather  in  this  latter  direction,  in  ceasing  to  think 
enough  of  the  awfulness  of  sin.  This  at  least  can  be  confi- 
dently said:  if  our  theory  of  life  includes  no  sacrifice,  no 
stern  self-repression,  if  it  makes  life  out  to  be  an  easy  task 
and  offers  impulse  and  passion  right  of  way,  it  is  a  mistaken 
theory.  Success  in  life  is  not  to  be  so  cheaply  bought.  The 
prohibition  is  not  external  but  internal,  inherent  in  the  very 
structure  of  human  nature;  sin  is  the  wreck  of  life,  and  purity 
its  natural  ideal.1 

Religion  has,  therefore,  been  right,  not  only  in  demanding 
instant  and  unquestioning  obedience  to  the  right,  but  in 
bidding  a  man  hate  the  wrong  and  label  it  by  an  odious 
name.  His  inner  conflicts  are  thereafter  no  longer  between 
two  opposing  impulses  that  differ  only  in  relative  worth, 
they  are  between  Right  and  Wrong,  between  Duty  and  Sin. 
The  first  stage  of  the  religious  life  begins  at  the  point  when 
a  man  accepts  what  were  else  merely  an  expedient  manner 
of  life  as  unconditionally  binding  upon  him,  as  the  will  of 
God.  The  highest  stage  is  reached  when  all  his  random  and 
mistaken  impulses  are  eradicated,  when  he  no  longer  desires 
to  follow  anything  but  the  right,  and  out  of  the  snare  of 
temptation  has  emerged  into  the  blessedness  that  belongs  to 
the  pure  in  heart.  But  because  absolute  purity  is  beyond 
the  attainment  of  mortal  men,  religion  lies  chiefly  along  the 
road,  in  the  yearning  and  aspiring  life,  that  is  not  content 
with  any  compromise  with  evil,  but  struggles  ever  on  and  on 

1  Cf.  W.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  51:  "When  all  is 
said  and  done,  we  are  in  the  end  absolutely  dependent  on  the  universe;  and 
into  sacrifices  and  surrenders  of  some  sort,  deliberately  looked  at  and  ac- 
cepted, we  are  drawn  and  pressed  as  into  our  only  permanent  positions  of 
repose.  Now  in  those  states  of  mind  which  fall  short  of  religion,  the  surren- 
der is  submitted  to  as  an  imposition  of  necessity,  and  the  sacrifice  is  under- 
gone at  the  very  best  without  complaint.  In  the  religious  life,  on  the  con- 
trary, surrender  and  sacrifice  are  positively  espoused;  even  unnecessary 
givings  up  are  added  in  order  that  happiness  may  increase.  Religion  thus 
makes  easy  and  felicitous  what  in  any  case  is  necessary." 


SACRIFICE  AND  SIN  161 

toward  perfection.  From  the  first  conception  of  an  objective 
duty  that  has  authority  over  his  subjective  caprices  and 
personal  desires,  a  duty  grudgingly  and  heavily  obeyed, 
religion  develops  into  an  ardent  pursuit  of  righteousness,  a 
happy  and  whole-hearted  dedication  to  an  ideal  of  life. 

The  saints  and  the  great  religious  teachers  have  been 
those  who  have  loved  purity  and  seen  the  beauty  of  holiness. 
In  the  Psalms,  in  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  in  the  letters  of 
Paul,  we  have  the  classic  expressions  of  delight  in  the  law  of 
righteousness.  Renunciation,  instead  of  being  a  grim  neces- 
sity, is  welcomed  with  open  arms;  self-denial  is  no  longer  a 
yoke  and  a  burden,  to  be  borne  because  there  is  no  way  of 
escape,  it  has  become  the  deepest  desire  of  the  heart.  Such 
is  the  temper  of  the  deeply  religious  man :  he  loves  Duty  not 
only  because  it  is  the  only  path  to  sustained  happiness,  but 
for  its  own  glorious  sake.    He  says,  — 

"I  give  nothing  as  duties, 
What  others  give  as  duties  I  give  as  living  impulses." 

The  ultimate  goal  of  the  religious  life  —  of  any  worthy 
life  —  is  indeed  service,  achievement;  but  achievement  un- 
spotted and  unhampered  by  selfishness,  by  sensuality,  by 
worldliness  and  sin.  All  indolence  and  frivolity,  all  coarse- 
ness and  dissipation,  all  gluttony  and  immoderation  and 
drunkenness  and  lust,  are  its  eternal  enemies.  From  the 
clutch  of  these  passions  man  climbs  toward  the  heights 
where  he  shall  no  longer  hear  the  seductive  voice  of  tempta- 
tion, where  his  will  shall  be  in  harmony  with  the  will  of  God, 
the  will  which  the  ideal  of  his  life  prescribes.  Between  these 
two  poles  of  the  animal  life  and  the  ideal  life  lies  his  pilgrim's 
progress;  from  the  world  of  unchecked  inclination  he  jour- 
neys over  a  long  and  toilsome  road,  with  much  effort  and 
travail  of  spirit,  to  the  spiritual  world,  which  is  the  world  of 
perfected  human  nature. 


162  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

The  doctrine  of  Original  Sin 

To  the  great  idealists  sin  has  often  appeared  not  merely 
as  an  individual  matter  but  as  a  universal  inheritance  and 
burden;  the  Hebrew  prophets,  for  example,  were  sweeping 
in  their  denunciation  of  the  general  wickedness  of  men. 
That  this  omnipresent  wickedness  dated  back  to  the  first 
man  and  was  due  to  his  original  fall  from  innocence,  came 
to  be  a  popularly  accepted  belief.   We  find  it  in  some  of  the 
Apocryphal  writings  that  preceded  the  Christian  era;  and 
Paul  fitted  it  into  his  conglomerate  theological  structure. 
"As  through  one  man  sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  death 
through  sin,  and  so  death  passed  unto  all  men,  for  that  all 
sinned  —  as  through  the  one  man's  disobedience  the  many 
were  made  sinners,  even  so  through  the  obedience  of  the  One 
shall  the  many  be  made  righteous."    Such  an  assertion  of 
universal  depravity  was  plausible  in  that  age,  when  the  old 
virtues  were  tottering  and  the  new  had  only  begun  to  appear. 
To  Paul  it  was  a  matter  of  plain  observation:  "Jews  and 
Greeks  —  they  are  all  under  sin;  as  it  is  written,  there  is 
none  righteous,  no,  not  one."  On  himself  the  curse  equally 
rested  —  "I  delight,  in  my  heart,  in  the  law  of  God;  but  I 
see  a  different  law  in  my  body,  warring  against  the  law  of 
my  mind,  and  bringing  me  into  captivity  under  the  law  of 
sin  which  is  in  my  body."  Under  this  curse  "the  whole  crea- 
tion groaneth  and  travailleth  till  now."  L 

To  Paul  the  important  matter  was  the  fact  of  universal 
sinfulness  and  the  need  of  salvation;  Adam  was  useful 
rhetorically,  to  contrast  with  Christ  —  the  first  sinner  with 
the  first  sinless  man.  But  the  Christian  fathers,  with  their 
hunger  for  theoretical  precision,  crystallized  his  hints  into 
a  hard-and-fast  doctrine  of  Original  Sin.  Adam's  sin  has 
demoralized  the  race;  his  guilt  is  transmitted  to  us  all,  and 
»  Rom.  5: 12-19;  3:  9-23;  7:  H-25;  8:  22. 


SACRIFICE  AND  SIN  163 

we  are  hopelessly  entangled  unless  the  supernatural  grace 
of  Christ  is  accepted.  St.  Augustine,  in  particular,  con- 
verted in  middle  life  after  a  youth  whose  wildness  he  after- 
ward, by  a  natural  psychological  tendency,  exaggerated  into 
unrelieved  blackness,  saddled  upon  the  Church  the  convic- 
tion of  man's  natural  depravity.1 

But  as  times  grew  gentler  and  men  more  humane,  this 
gloomy  view  of  human  nature  was  bound  to  give  way.  Par- 
ticularly in  America,  with  its  unbounded  hopes  and  its 
freedom  from  old-world  problems,  the  sense  of  the  natural 
goodness  of  man,  already  vigorously  preached  by  the  eight- 
eenth century  romanticists,  became  dominant;  and  the  offi- 
cial pessimistic  doctrine  of  the  Church  appeared  a  sad  and 
chilling  untruth.  "  The  progress  of  society,"  said  Channing, 
"is  retarded  by  nothing  more  than  by  the  low  views  which 
its  leaders  are  accustomed  to  take  of  human  nature."  "It  is 
a  duty  to  estimate  highly  the  nature  which  God  has  given. 
It  should  be  regarded  with  reverence,  rather  than  con- 
tempt."2 And  Emerson  cried  out  impatiently  to  his  Divinity 
School  listeners,  "  None  believeth  in  the  soul  of  man,  but 
only  in  some  man  or  person  old  and  departed." 

To  the  modern  man  there  is  evidently  truth  on  both  sides 
of  the  controversy.  Man  is  neither  inherently  bad  nor  in- 
herently good.  No  impulse  or  instinct  is  in  itself  evil;  but 
any  may  lead  to  evil  if  undisciplined  and  unrestrained.  We 
do  inherit  tendencies  that  bring  pain  and  wrong  and  pre- 
mature death;  from  the  burden  of  these  passions  men  have 
universally  longed  to  be  delivered.  We  do  start  handicapped 

1  See  G.  F.  Wiggers,  Historical  Presentation  of  Augustinism  from  the 
Original  Sources;  F.  R.  Tennant,  Soitrces  of  the  Doctrine  of  the  Fall  and 
Original  Sin;  Jonathan  Edwards,  The  Doctrine  of  Original  Sin  Defended; 
Jeremy  Taylor,  Scripture  Doctrine  of  Original  Sin.  For  a  modern  interpre- 
tation of  the  doctrine  see  J.  Royee,  Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  I,  chap.  in. 
For  a  modern  criticism,  see  Edmond  Holmes,  In  Defence  of  What  Might  Be, 
chap,  n;  J.  J.  Hall,  Evolution  and  the  Fall;  and  the  literature  of  Eugenics. 

2  Mem.  i,  288. 


164  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

and  hampered  by  this  common  human  inheritance;  we  are 
all  potentially  sinful  before  our  first  sinful  act,  there  is  in  us 
a  predisposition  to  evil.  The  doctrine  of  the  Fall  puts  into 
the  form  of  a  single  historical  incident  what  is  really  a  gen- 
eral truth  about  human  nature  —  the  fact  that  its  present 
state  does  not  correspond  to  its  real  estate.  Not  only  the 
Hebrews,  with  their  unusually  acute  consciousness  of  short- 
coming or  imperfection,  but  many  other  races,  have  postu- 
lated a  golden  age  in  the  past  wherein  this  discordance  did 
not  exist.  Anthropology  discredits  such  an  idea;  there  has 
not  been  any  general  degeneration.  But  universally,  prac- 
tice does  not  correspond  to  ideal.  A  truer  formulation  of  the 
fact  which  the  doctrine  of  the  Fall  has  sought  to  explain 
would  be  to  say  that  man  has  not  fallen,  he  has  never  risen 
to  his  potentialities,  or  found  the  life  of  happiness  and  power 
that  might  be  his. 

But  if  there  is  weakness  and  imperfection  in  us  all,  there 
is  also  much  good  in  us  all;  any  normal  child,  if  rightly 
trained,  and  subjected  to  just  the  right  influences,  could 
become  a  saint.  If  some  seem  so  hopelessly  fallen  as  to  need 
supernatural  grace,  it  is  for  lack  of  the  proper  influences  at 
the  right  time.  Environment  is  more  responsible  than 
heredity.  Nor  need  we  trouble  ourselves  about  predestina- 
tion and  election.  Some  undoubtedly  start  better  off  than 
others;  modern  science  is  showing  why,  and  pointing  the  way 
toward  an  ultimate  improvement.  In  this  matter  we  have 
more  to  learn  from  eugenics  than  from  theology.  We  shall 
always  have  to  fight  against  the  evil  tendencies  inseparable 
from  human  nature;  but  proper  breeding  and  training  of 
the  human  species  can  remove  from  the  situation  most  of  its 
hopeless  aspects.  The  doctrine  of  the  inevitable  sinfulness 
of  man  has  had  its  day. 

Historical:  L.  R.  Farnell,  Evolution  of  Religion,  chap.  in.  F.  B. 
Jcvons,  Sacrifice  (in  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Comparative  Reli- 


SACRIFICE  AND  SIN  165 

gion).  W.  R.  Smith,  Religion  of  the  Semites,  lectures  vi-xi.  P.  V.  X. 
Myers,  History  as  Past  Ethics,  chap.  xiii.  C.  H.  Toy,  Judaism 
and  Christianity,  chap.  iv.  A.  Lang,  Custom  and  Myth,  pp.  105-20. 
American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  4,  p.  257. 

Traditionalistic:  O.  A.  Curtis,  The  Christian  Faith,  chaps,  xiv- 
xv.  W.  N.  Clarke,  Outline  of  Christian  Theology,  pt.  in.  C.  A. 
Beckwith,  Realities  of  Christian  Theology,  chap.  v. 

Modern:  W.  E.  Orchard,  Modern  Theories  of  Sin.  E.  S.  Ames, 
Psychology  of  Religious  Experience,  chap.  vn.  G.  B.  Cutten,  Psy- 
chological Phenomena  oj  Christianity,  chap.  xi.  F.  J.  Peabody, 
Jesus  Christ  and  the  Christian  Character,  chaps,  iii-iv.  G.  A.  Coe, 
Religion  of  a  Mature  Mind,  chap.  xn.  G.  Santayana,  Reason  in 
Religion,  chaps,  x-xi.  J.  Royce,  Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  i, 
chaps,  in,  v.  J.  Martineau,  Studies  in  Christianity,  pp.  466-77. 
W.  de  W.  Hyde,  Sin  and  its  Forgiveness.  C.  C.  Everett,  Theism  and 
the  Christian  Faith,  chaps,  xxi-xxn.  F.  R.  Tennant,  Concept  of 
Sin.  R.  Mackintosh,  Chyistianity  and  Sin.  Schaff-Herzog  Encyc- 
lopedia, arts.  Sin,  Sacrifice.  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  5, 
p.  121. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SALVATION,   CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT 

What  is  the  meaning  of  salvation? 

Ideally,  there  ought  to  be  no  need  of  salvation  for  men; 
education  and  eugenics  should  breed  a  race  of  men  adapted 
to  their  environment  and  able  to  live  in  harmony  and  inner 
peace.  This,  however,  is  but  a  remote  ideal;  actually,  most 
men  have  consciously  failed  in  adjustment  somewhere,  and 
felt  the  need  of  salvation.  Most  men  at  one  time  or  other 
have  cried  out  as  Paul  did,  "  To  will  is  present  with  me,  but 
to  do  that  which  is  good  is  not.  .  .  .  Wretched  man  that  I  am, 
who  shall  deliver  me  from  this  body  of  death  !  "  To  the  felt 
need  of  deliverance  from  sin  there  has  generally  been  added 
the  dread  of  the  punishment  of  sin,  the  fear  of  future  retri- 
bution. To  be  saved  meant  to  the  early  Christian  propa- 
gandists the  promise  of  admittance  to  the  Messianic  King- 
dom shortly  to  be  set  up  by  Christ;  to  the  modern  evangelist 
it  means  escape  from  the  torments  of  hell  and  the  hope  of 
sharing  the  delights  of  heaven.  But  this  aspect  of  salvation 
need  not  concern  us  here; l  it  has  varied  with  the  differing 
conceptions  of  God  and  the  future  life,  and  has  necessarily 
been  a  matter  of  speculation  or  faith  rather  than  of  actual 
experience.  What  we  have  to  consider  is  rather  the  means  of 
escape  from  sin  here  and  now;  a  matter  as  to  which  practi- 
cally the  whole  human  race  are  in  the  same  case,  and  which 
can  be  discussed  independently  of  theological  or  eschato- 
logical  dogmas. 

There  is  a  modern  tendency  to  discard  the  terms  "salva- 
1  The  question  of  the  future  life  will  be  discussed  in  chap.  xxiv. 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT        167 

tion,"  "conversion,"  "regeneration,"  and  the  like,  because 
they  have  become  colored  for  most  of  us  by  theological  pre- 
suppositions and  often  applied  to  acts  and  forms  which  have 
no  real  spiritual  value.  Baptism,  partaking  of  the  wine  and 
bread,  confession,  joining  the  church,  profession  of  belief,  — 
such  outward  acts  are  symbolical  and  suggestive,  but  have 
no  direct  intrinsic  efficacy.  All  assumption  by  any  church  of 
power  to  save  men  or  to  pronounce  them  saved,  except  as 
they  actually  experience  an  inward  change,  is  sheer  inso- 
lence. Nor  can  we  in  these  days  hold  that  only  Christians 
have  been  saved  —  a  mere  handful  out  of  the  myriads  of 
men  and  women  who  have  peopled  the  earth.  Salvation,  de- 
liverance from  sin,  is  open  to  all.  Jew  and  Christian,  Brah- 
man and  Buddhist,  have  felt  alike  the  need  of  it;  and  by  all 
the  great  faiths  the  way  of  salvation  has  in  some  measure 
been  found :  in  some  measure  —  for  there  are  degrees  of 
salvation.  We  can  no  longer  separate  men  into  sheep  and 
goats,  the  saved  and  the  lost;  moral  differences  are  infi- 
nitely numerous,  and  no  man  is  wholly  good  or  bad.  There 
are  indeed  cases  of  abrupt  transition  from  great  sinfulness  to 
purity;  but  more  often  salvation  has  to  be  worked  out  grad- 
ually through  years  of  effort  and  failure.1 

Yet,  if  it  is  true  that  salvation  has  come  in  greater  or  lesser 
degree  to  multitudes  of  men  of  all  faiths,  it  is  also  true  that 
it  has  come  in  most  striking  measure  through  Christ.  No 
other  power  ever  let  loose  in  the  world  has  accomplished 
nearly  so  much  in  freeing  men  from  the  bondage  of  sin  as  the 
power  of  his  life  and  death.  The  great  highroad  of  deliver- 

1  Cf.  James,  Varieties,  pp.  238-39:  "The  real  witness  of  the  spirit  to  the 
'second  birth'  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  disposition  of  the  genuine  child  of 
God,  the  permanently  patient  heart,  the  love  of  self  eradicated.  And  this, 
it  has  to  be  admitted,  is  also  found  in  those  who  pass  no  crisis,  and  may  even 
be  found  outside  of  Christianity  altogether.  ...  No  chasm  exists  between 
the  orders  of  human  excellence,  but  here  as  elsewhere  nature  shows  contin- 
uous differences,  and  generation  and  regeneration  are  matters  of  degree." 


168  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

ance  for  sin-ridden  men  is  that  of  overcoming  evil  with  good; 
a  great  love,  a  great  loyalty,  can  banish  temptations  against 
which  a  direct  struggle  is  futile.  So  a  spiritual  union  with 
Christ  has  for  millions  wrought  that  transformation  of  char- 
acter which  we  call  regeneration;  and  the  surest  way  to  save 
men  who  have  sunk  far  into  sin  has  proved  to  be,  after  win- 
ning their  will  to  repent,  to  bring  them  to  Christ. 

What  is  the  meaning  and  value  of  conversion? 

When  a  man,  after  a  life  of  indifference  to  spiritual  values, 
is  suddenly  saved  from  such  religious  apathy,  roused  to  a 
new  set  of  interests,  delivered  from  the  power  of  sin  —  and 
therefore  from  its  consequences,  natural  or  supernatural  — 
we  call  him  converted.  "Conversion"  means,  literally,  a 
"turning  round";  the  term  is  usually  restricted  to  cases  of  a 
turning  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  level  of  life.1  Conversion  is 
not  by  any  means  always  accompanied  by  extremes  of  nerv- 
ous excitement;  on  the  contrary,  the  process  is  usually  quiet 
enough  in  outward  manifestation.  It  is  by  no  means  always 
abrupt;  rather,  it  may  be  so  gradual  as  to  have  no  special 
significant  moments  to  mark  the  change  of  heart.  There  are 
all  sorts  of  types,  from  that  of  the  convert  who  is  thrown  into 
unconsciousness  by  the  stress  of  battling  emotions  to  that  of 
the  man  who,  though  truly  religious,  is  conscious  of  no  con- 
version at  all,  but  seems  to  have  always  cared  for  the  best 

1  Starbuck  defines  it  as  follows  (p.  156):  "Conversion  is  suddenly  for- 
saking the  lower  for  the  higher  self.  In  terms  of  the  neural  basis  of  con- 
sciousness, it  is  the  inhibition  of  lower  channels  of  nervous  discharge 
through  the  establishment  of  higher  connections  and  the  identification  of 
the  ego  with  the  new  activities."  James  defines  it  (p.  189)  as,  "The  process, 
gradual  or  sudden,  by  which  a  self  hitherto  divided,  and  consciously  wrong, 
inferior,  and  unhappy,  becomes  unified,  and  consciously  right,  superior,  and 
happy,  in  consequence  of  its  firmer  hold  upon  religious  realities."  And 
(p.  196),  "To  say  that  a  man  is  'converted'  means  that  religious  ideas, 
previously  peripheral  in  his  consciousness,  now  take  a  central  place,  and 
that  religious  aims  form  the  habitual  centre  of  his  energy." 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT         169 

things.  There  is  not  necessarily  any  sharp  line  between  the 
converted  and  the  unconverted;  if  a  child  is  rightly  trained, 
and  grows  up  into  the  Christian  life,  he  will  need  no  turning- 
round.  Only  those  who  have  become  addicted  to  wrong 
habits,  who  have  gone  so  far  astray  that  they  have,  for  the 
time,  lost  the  power  or  inclination  to  follow  virtue,  need 
such  a  right-about-face,  such  a  forcible  shaking  out  of  their 
old  ruts  and  turning  to  a  new  direction. 

Yet  conversion  has  played  a  large  part  in  Christianity, 
and  rightly  so.  For  to  most  of  us,  however  outwardly  blame- 
less our  lives  have  been,  there  comes  at  some  time  or  other 
the  vision  of  a  higher  spiritual  level  on  which  we  might  live; 
and  even  with  the  best  of  training  the  average  child  is  natu- 
rally self -centered  and  but  slightly,  if  at  all,  religious.  There 
comes  commonly  a  moment  when  the  youth  or  maiden  real- 
izes as  never  before  the  meaning  of  life  and  its  duties,  and 
turns  from  a  hitherto  half-unconscious  selfishness  to  a  con- 
scious devotion  to  the  duties  which  love  and  religion  demand. 
Professor  Starbuck,  who,  in  his  valuable  Psychology  of  Reli- 
gion, has  collected  many  statistics  of  the  various  types  of 
conversion,  is  decided  in  his  affirmation  that  it  is  a  normal 
accompaniment  of  adolescence.  The  period  of  the  teens  is 
naturally  a  time  of  profound  mental  upheaval,  the  most 
critical  period  of  life,  when  the  youth,  yet  plastic,  is  forming 
his  character  and  choosing  his  ideals.  Many  primitive  reli- 
gions took  advantage  of  this  transition  period  to  awaken  the 
dormant  instincts  of  the  young  and  enlist  their  loyalty;  the 
Christian  Church  should  certainly  aim  to  reach  and  influence 
them  at  that  susceptible  age.1  It  is  by  no  means  true  that 
children  are  radically  and  inevitably  sinful  until  a  super- 

*  "The  Church,"  says  Starbuck,  "takes  the  adolescent  tendencies  and 
builds  upon  them;  it  sees  that  the  essential  thing  in  adolescent  growth  is 
bringing  the  person  out  of  childhood  into  the  new  life.  ...  It  accordingly 
brings  those  means  to  bear  which  will  intensify  the  normal  tendencies.  It 
shortens  up  the  period  of  storm  and  stress." 


170  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

natural  grace  has  transformed  them;  in  normal  cases  they 
should  grow  imperceptibly  into  a  spontaneous  religious  life. 
But  that  religious  life  can  usually,  at  the  right  moments,  be 
greatly  stimulated  by  appropriate  suggestion,  in  forms  vary- 
ing with  the  individual  need. 

To  those  who  have  passed  through  such  a  quickening  and 
illuminating  experience,  it  naturally  seems  important  that 
others  should  feel  it  also.  And  so  some  Christian  churches  — 
notably  the  Methodist  —  have  proclaimed  a  process  of  this 
sort  necessary  and  have  refused  their  fellowship  to  those 
who  cannot  profess  to  have  undergone  it.  Their  methods  of 
fostering  the  experience  have  become  stereotyped;  its  partic- 
ular form  in  a  given  church  is  largely  determined  by  imita- 
tion or  suggestion.  This  specific  type  of  experience  is  then 
expected  of  all  who  are  to  belong  to  that  church;  and  every 
one  in  that  circle  who  yearns  at  all  toward  religion  feels  in 
duty  bound  to  go  through  this  experience,  or  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  has  gone  through  it.  It  is  an  interesting  side- 
light on  human  suggestibility,  this  readiness  with  which  a 
certain  measure  of  conformity  is  attained,  in  experiences 
which  appear  so  individual  and  spontaneous.  But  it  is  gen- 
erally to  be  noted  that  an  elaborate  and  skillful  technique 
has  been  employed  to  produce  precisely  such  manifestations; 
and  they  usually  occur  under  the  influence  of  contagion. 
The  danger  is,  of  course,  that  it  degenerate  into  a  perfunc- 
tory and  mechanical  ceremony  with  the  great  numbers  who 
are  not  mentally  ready  for  just  that  type  of  experience.  But 
we  must  never  forget  that  the  form  without  the  spirit  is 
worthless;  conversion  is  not  actual  unless  there  is  a  real 
change  of  attitude,  a  new  dedication  of  the  heart,  once 
wavering  or  indifferent,  to  the  religious  life. 

We  are  accustomed,  perhaps,  to  associate  conversion  with 
revivalistic  orgies,  with  visions  and  voices,  tears  and  exhor- 
tations, and  intense  emotional  stress.  In  fact,  there  has  been 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT        171 

much  of  the  abnormal,  much  of  the  irrational  and  disgusting, 
connected  with  Christian  evangelism.  But  we  should  not 
despise  methods,  however  repellent  to  our  sensibilities,  that 
have  been  efficacious  in  turning  men  from  sensuality  or  self- 
ishness to  a  godly  life.  The  emotional  outflows  —  shoutings 
and  gesticulations,  jerkings,  hallelujahs,  jumpings  up  and 
down,  and  the  like  —  are  natural  enough.  To  overcome  deep- 
rooted  habits  of  wrongdoing  and  direct  a  life  into  new  chan- 
nels may  well  involve  much  stress  of  spirit,  be  accompanied 
by  deep  emotions,  and,  in  those  of  the  proper  temperament, 
by  "automatisms"  of  various  sorts  —  blinding  flashes, 
luminous  figures,  voices,  and  kindred  phenomena.  Yet  it  is 
unfortunate  that  such  abnormal  experiences,  experiences  not 
accessible  to  all  men,  and  not  always  of  actual  spiritual  bene- 
fit, should  ever  have  been  deemed  an  essential  mark  of  the 
Christian  life.  Christ  certainly  never  required  them;  all  that 
he  demanded  was,  "Take  up  your  cross  and  follow  me." 
Many  of  the  Christian  churches  have  never  encouraged 
cataclysmic  conversion,  but  have  instead  elaborated  a  grad- 
ual process  of  religious  education.  But  the  apostle  Paul  and 
St.  Augustine,  perhaps  the  two  men  who  had  the  greatest 
influence  in  controlling  the  direction  of  development  of 
Christianity,  were  both  men  of  psychopathic  temperament, 
subject  to  these  violent  experiences;  it  is  largely  due  to 
that  fact  that  catastrophic  conversion  has  seemed  to  some 
churches  a  necessary  prelude  to  the  Christian  life. 

From  another  point  of  view  Christian  evangelism  has  been 
often  disparaged,  namely,  because  its  fruits  are  held  to  be 
but  transitory,  a  mere  ephemeral  burst  of  emotion  that 
when  it  ebbs  leaves  a  man  no  better  than  before.  But  very 
many  cases  fall  within  the  observation  of  any  student  of 
these  phenomena  in  which  the  spiritual  level  has  been  per- 
manently and  strikingly  raised  as  a  result  of  the  conversion 
experience.   Backsliders  there  will  be;  and  few  can  hope  to 


172  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

retain  through  a  long  succession  of  common  days  the  vision 
of  their  supreme  moments.  It  is  impossible  to  keep  the  glam- 
our and  the  glow  that  go  with  "falling  in  love"  through  the 
humdrum  years  of  married  life;  yet  the  radiance  of  that  glo- 
rious period  may  bind  the  two  into  an  eternal  union.  So  the 
great  moments  when  the  soul  passionately  espouses  the  reli- 
gious life  should,  and  often  do,  effect  a  permanent  raising  of 
the  level  of  the  whole  subsequent  life.  And  any  one  who  has 
once  known  the  joy  and  peace  of  the  Christian  spirit,  even  if 
for  a  few  days  or  hours  only,  can  never  wholly  forget  that 
blessed  time,  and  is  forever  after  more  receptive  to  religious 
pleading  than  one  who  has  never,  even  for  a  moment,  caught 
the  vision  of  that  better  Way. 

Space  is  lacking  for  a  description  of  the  very  various  types 
of  the  conversion  experience.  But  one  great  distinction  we 
must  note.  William  James  has  familiarized  us  with  this 
distinction,  between  Volitional  Conversion,  as  he  termed  it, 
and  Conversion  by  Self-Surrender.  The  former  type  is  that 
of  those  who  attain  the  new  level  of  life  by  an  agony  of 
struggle  and  sweat  and  constantly  renewed  consecration, 
who  need  to  retain  the  militant  attitude  toward  sin.  The 
latter  type  includes  those  who  best  attain  the  higher  life  by 
surrendering  themselves  at  the  critical  moment  to  its  power. 
A  profound  sense  of  impotence  and  despair  is  followed 
abruptly,  in  these  cases,  by  a  wave  of  joy  and  a  sense  of  vic- 
tory. The  prior  discouragement  is  often  intensified  by  the 
lurid  preaching  of  the  evangelist,  the  doctrinal  obsession  of 
the  natural  sinfulness  and  helplessness  of  human  nature,  and 
the  fear  of  impending  punishment;  when  the  final  release 
comes,  the  relaxation  of  pressure  and  conviction  of  salvation 
produces  by  contrast  a  keen  joy;  the  self  is  no  longer  divided, 
the  struggle  is  over.1  This  type  of  mental  process  produces 

1  This  second  type  of  conversion  will  he  further  discussed,  in  the  follow- 
ing chapter,  in  connection  with  the  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  faith.  See 
pp.  180-86. 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT        173 

obviously  the  most  striking  cases;  and  some  Christian  bodies 
have  held  it  to  be  the  only  genuine  form  of  conversion.  But, 
after  all,  what  the  particular  type  of  conversion  is,  matters 
little;  it  is  only  a  question  of  the  most  efficacious  means  to 
an  end.  The  ultimately  important  thing  is  not  how  a  man  is 
converted,  but  what  he  is  converted  to.1 

There  are  dangers  in  the  practice  of  evangelism.  There  is 
the  danger  of  encouraging  a  mere  emotionalism,  divorced 
from  sane  and  accurate  thinking;  and  of  fostering  erroneous 
doctrines  through  their  alliance  with  such  stimulating  emo- 
tions. There  is  the  danger  of  making  the  conversion  experi- 
ence an  end  in  itself,  producing  little  fruit  in  an  altered  life. 
There  is  the  danger  of  making  religion  appear  something 
apart  from  normal  life,  something  violent  and  absurd  and 
repugnant  to  people  of  refinement  and  common  sense.  There 
is  the  danger  of  stereotyping  the  conversion  experience  till 
the  converts  go  through  it  perfunctorily,  like  so  many  sheep, 
as  a  necessary  doorway  to  the  church,  without  its  having  a 
vital  meaning  to  them  or  being  a  genuine  and  organic  part 
of  their  own  life.  There  is  the  danger  of  stimulating  an  ab- 
normal craving  for  excitement,  which  may  satisfy  itself  upon 
a  later  occasion  in  some  disastrous  way.  There  is  the  danger 
of  neglecting,  through  reliance  upon  conversion,  the  normal 
processes  of  religious  education.     Nevertheless,   properly 

1  Cf.  Coe,  p.  144:  "The  ultimate  test  of  religious  values  is  nothing  psy- 
chological, nothing  definable  in  terms  of  hotv  it  happens,  but  something 
ethical,  definable  only  in  terms  of  what  is  attained.'"  And  Bishop  McCon- 
nell  (in  Constructive  Quarterly,  vol.  1,  pp.  135-36):  "We  no  longer  lay  stress 
upon  incidental  and  accidental  features  in  religious  experience.  .  .  .  The 
essential  is  the  new  life  itself,  and  the  emphasis  should  be  on  the  features 
which  seem  to  make  for  larger  life  in  the  most  natural  and  normal  fashion. 
...  All  these  experiences  are  subject  to  psychological  law.  The  problem  in 
Christian  life  is  to  bring  the  psychological  movement  under  moral  law,  to 
make  the  emotional  reaction  come  out  of  moral  purpose  and  lead  to  the 
moral  control  of  the  will."  Both  of  these  writers,  it  may  be  noted,  are  prom- 
inent living  Methodist  ministers,  one  a  professor  in  a  leading  theological 
school,  the  other  a  bishop  of  the  church. 


174  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

controlled  and  directed,  the  practice  of  abrupt  conversion 
may  be  of  enormous  value;  because  it  has  been  misunder- 
stood and  abused,  we  need  by  no  means  utterly  discard  it.1 

The  doctrine  of  the  Atonement 

Through  Christ  men  were  saved;  that  was  the  great  fact 
that  illuminated  the  early  Christian  preaching.  The  old 
sacrificial  systems  were  done  away  with;  priests  and  burnt 
offerings  were  finally  and  forever  displaced  by  the  One 
Saviour.  The  good  news  consisted  largely  in  the  relief  from 
former  burdens.  But  there  was  also  the  positive  gospel: 
somehow  by  Christ's  life  or  sacrificial  death  the  power  of 
sin  had  been  broken,  and  the  New  Life  had  been  opened 
up  to  men.  Redemption  was  an  actual  experience  —  which 
merged  into  a  greater  hope.  But  what  was  the  objective  side 
to  this  subjective  fact?  How  were  men  saved  through 
Christ?  Paul  and  the  earliest  Christian  teachers,  being  al- 
most exclusively  practical  in  their  interests,  left  the  matter 
open ;  there  is  no  definite  theory  of  redemption  or  atonement 
in  the  Bible.  But  the  later  theologians  found  in  the  rhetoric 
of  these  earliest  preachers  many  a  suggestion  and  metaphor 
that  served  as  scriptural  basis  for  their  various  theories. 

(1)  The  earliest  theory  to  obtain  wide  currency  was  that 
of  a  price  paid  to  the  Devil.  That  the  power  of  the  Evil  One 
had  been  broken  was  clear;  and  the  words  "redeem,"  "  ran- 
som," etc.,  appear  frequently  in  the  primitive  teaching.2 
Irenseus  and  Origen  developed,  with  the  relentless  logic  of 
the  theologian,  the  apparent  implications  of  these  terms. 
Satan  had  won,  by  the  successful  temptation  of  Adam,  a 
right  to  the  souls  of  men ;  he  held  them  as  his  captives.  Over 
Christ,  however,  because  of  his  sinlessness,  he  had  no  power; 

1  Some  of  the  theological  inferences  drawn  from  the  conversion  experi- 
ence will  be  discussed  below,  on  pp.  322-25. 

J  Cf.  Matt.  20:28.  Mark  10:45.  Titus,  2:14.  1  Pet.  1:18.  Col.  2:15. 
Heb.  2:14-15. 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT         175 

and  by  causing  him  to  be  put  to  death  he  made  himself  in 
turn  liable  to  a  penalty,  and  had  to  forfeit  his  claim  over 
his  former  prisoners.  Christ's  death  was,  then,  a  price  paid 
for  the  souls  of  men;  the  transaction  was  variously  thought 
of  as  a  bargain,  or  as  a  stratagem;  at  any  rate,  the  Devil  was 
outwitted  and  spoiled  of  his  prey.  Variant  forms  of  this 
ransom-theory  were  formulated  by  St.  Jerome,  St.  Augus- 
tine, St.  Bernard,  and  other  pillars  of  the  church;  it  has  not 
yet  wholly  faded  from  Christian  thought. 

(2)  This  dualism,  however,  this  struggle  between  God 
and  Devil  for  the  souls  of  men,  was  repugnant  to  many 
Christians;  and  the  learned  doctor  Anselm,  in  answer  to  his 
famous  question,  Cur  Deus  homo  ?  propounded  the  legal  the- 
ory. According  to  this,  the  Devil  had  no  rights  which  God 
was  bound  to  respect.  But  the  guilt  of  sin  had  to  be  some- 
how atoned  for  to  maintain  God's  honor  and  satisfy  his 
sense  of  justice.  Christ  offered  himself,  to  bear  man's  pun- 
ishment in  his  stead;  God  accepted  the  substitution;  man 
can  therefore  go  free.  The  theory  was  worked  out  by 
Thomas  Aquinas,  and  became  the  dominant  Christian  con- 
ception.   It  is  embodied  by  Milton  in  the  lines,  — 

"Man,  .  .  .  losing  all, 
To  expiate  his  treason  hath  naught  left, 
But,  to  destruction  sacred  and  devote, 
He  with  his  whole  posterity  must  die;  — 
Die  he  or  Justice  must;  unless  for  him 
Some  other,  able,  and  as  willing,  pay 
The  rigid  satisfaction,  death  for  death." 

This  theory,  however,  with  its  picture  of  God  as  the 
stern  and  relentless  judge,  was  also  opposed  from  the  begin- 
ning; Socinus  once  for  all  showed  the  weakness  of  its  judicial 
fictions,  and  it  has  been  pretty  widely  abandoned  by  the 
Church  as  immoral.  That  God  should  insist  upon  "justice," 
i.e.,  upon  a  full  measure  of  punishment  for  every  sin,  and 
be  unable  or  unwilling  simply  to  forgive  and  forget  wrong- 


176  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

doing,  —  which  is  the  result  of  the  instincts  and  impulses  with 
which  men  are  endowed,  and  is  usually  wretched  enough  in 
itself,  without  added  punishment,  —  has  to  the  sympathetic 
and  sensitive  seemed  incredible.  That  prior  to  Christ's  suf- 
fering he  should  have  damned  poor  ignorant  men  to  tor- 
ments in  hell,  and  should  still  exact  that  frightful  penalty  of 
them  except  as  they  realize  their  situation  and  consciously 
accept  Christ's  vicarious  sacrifice,  is  a  doctrine  too  awful  for 
the  modern  taste.  The  revenge-conception  of  punishment 
has  been  abandoned  in  inter-human  relations;  and  the  hu- 
maner  spirit  of  the  times  demands  an  equally  humane  God. 
We  see  too  clearly  the  causes  of  sin ;  we  pity  the  sinner  and 
seek  to  reform  him;  if  we  imprison  him  it  is  only  to  restrain 
him  from  further  wrongdoing,  to  bring  better  influences  to 
bear  upon  him,  and  to  deter  others  from  similar  folly.  Any 
punishment  beyond  what  is  necessary  for  these  ends  is  sheer 
cruelty.  Moreover,  if  God's  relations  to  men  are  to  be  con- 
ceived in  terms  of  criminal  law,  if  we  must  at  all  costs  have 
justice,  is  it  justice  to  punish  myriads  of  men  for  Adam's  sin 
—  even  granting  that  sin  to  be  far  more  heinous  than  it 
would  naturally  appear?  And  what  sort  of  justice  is  it  that 
could  be  satisfied  with  the  punishing  of  one  innocent  man 
and  the  free  pardon  of  myriads  of  guilty  men?  The  theory 
seems  a  remnant  of  the  ancient  idea  that  the  gods  need  to  be 
placated;  but  by  the  side  of  the  pagan  gods,  who  were  con- 
tent with  humble  offerings  of  flesh  and  fruit,  the  Christian 
God,  demanding  the  suffering  and  death  of  his  own  Son, 
appears  a  monster  of  cruelty. 

(3)  As  far  back  as  Abelard,  in  the  twelfth  century,  the 
"moral  influence  theory"  had  its  exponents;  and  it  has 
been  gradually,  if  slowly,  winning  its  way  in  the  Church.1 

1  Cf.  for  a  modern  expression  of  it,  Sabatier,  pp.  94-95:  "The  redemp- 
tive element  is  to  be  found,  not  in  the  death  of  Christ,  but  in  the  power  and 
brilliancy  of  his  religious  consciousness,  to  the  benefits  of  which  we  are 


SALVATION,   CONVERSION,  AND   ATONEMENT        177 

According  to  it,  the  power  of  the  death  of  Christ  lay  in  its 
awakening  in  men  an  answering  love  powerful  enough  to 
conquer  their  sinfulness.  That  sacrifice  was  necessary,  not 
to  pay  the  Devil  or  to  placate  God;  it  was  psychologically 
necessary,  to  stir  men's  hearts  and  arouse  their  latent  pow- 
ers. Christ's  life  was  saving;  if  his  death  was  necessary,  it 
was  as  a  capstone  and  climax  to  his  life  of  sacrifice.  His- 
torically, his  teaching  failed  to  win  many  adherents;  the 
uttermost  sacrifice  was  needed.  And  that  death  on  the  cross 
actually  proved  the  saving  fact.  By  it,  not  by  his  sinless 
life,  was  Paul  impressed;  it  was  the  preaching  of  the  cross 
that  converted,  that  saved,  the  world. 

Without  pausing  to  note  any  of  the  other,  less-known  the- 
ories, we  may  assert  that  in  this  "moral"  theory  lies  what- 
ever truth  there  is  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Atonement.  Good 
men  do  have  to  atone  for  the  sins  of  bad  men;  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  wickedness  of  men,  Christ,  our  type  of  spiritual 
hero,  would  not  have  had  to  suffer  and  die.  That  widespread 
human  wickedness  cost  him  dear;  he  paid  the  full  price;  and 
he  is  the  fitting  type  of  the  vicariousness  of  so  much  of 
human  suffering.  Moreover,  that  suffering,  that  supreme 
example  of  self-sacrificing  love,  has  had  a  great  redeeming 
power,  breaking  down  men's  resistance  and  winning  them 
to  God.  The  individual  is  often  unable  to  cure  his  own  per- 
verted will;  it  is  the  devoted  love  of  others,  such  love  as  is 
typified  in  Christ,  that  softens  the  hard  heart  and  rescues 
men  from  the  power  of  sin.  "It  is  only  suffering  love  that 
avails  to  bring  back  the  prodigal  sons;  and  only  as  parents 

admitted  through  faith,  and  in  which  we  6nd  peace,  joy,  and  salvation. 
Christ  suffered  for  us  only  ...  as  a  result  of  human  solidarity,  from  the 
painful  consequences  of  sins  in  which  he  had  no  personal  part.  .  .  .  His 
death  is  not  the  cause  of  an  objective  atonement  made  before  God  for  sin, 
but  the  historical  means  of  a  subjective  atonement  which  is  effected  in  the 
human  consciousness  through  faith,  by  the  death  of  the  old  man  and  the 
birth  of  the  new." 


178  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

have  it  for  their  children,  pastors  for  their  people,  friends  for 
their  friends,  can  they  be  real  soul-winners."  l  It  is  the  spirit 
of  Christ,  the  ministry  of  love  and  self-sacrifice,  that  is 
slowly  lifting  men  upward;  that  event  on  Calvary,  nineteen 
hundred  years  ago,  symbolizes  this  age-long  process;  the 
doctrine  that  has  crystallized  round  it  expresses  in  concrete 
and  tangible  form  a  profound  and  pathetic  truth. 

But  there  is  always  the  danger  of  so  preaching  this  doc- 
trine as  to  relax  rather  than  quicken  men's  efforts;  contented 
reliance  upon  Christ's  sacrifice  has  led  many  a  Christian  to 
forget  that  it  is  only  by  following  Christ,  by  repeating  in  his 
own  experience  Christ's  sacrifice  and  victory,  that  he  can 
share  the  great  reward.  Yet  this  was  what  Paul  meant;  re- 
demption was  to  him  not  an  outward  transaction  but  an 
inward  transformation.  To  Paul's  experience  Christianity 
must  cling  fast.  We  must  let  Christ's  sacrifice  touch  us,  in- 
clude us,  destroy  our  desire  for  sin;  we  must  catch  the  spirit 
of  atoning  love  and  reenact  the  great  Atonement,  in  our 
humble  way,  in  our  own  lives. 

Salvation:  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  41-57.  J.  V. 
Morgan,  ed.,  Theology  at  the  Daicn  of  the  Twentieth  Century,  pp. 
1.59-222.  R.  J.  Campbell,  New  Theology,  chap.  xn.  M.  Arnold, 
St.  Paul  and  Protestantism. 

Conversion:  W.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  chaps. 
ix,  x.  E.  D.  Starbuck,  Psychology  of  Religion.  G.  A.  Coe,  Spiritual 
Life,  chaps,  i-iii.  G.  B.  Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Chris- 
tianity, chap,  xviii.  E.  S.  Ames,  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience, 
pt.  in.  A.  W.  Moore,  Rational  Pads  of  Orthodoxy,  chaps,  xi-xii. 
H.  Begbie,  Twice-Born  Men.   American  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol. 

7,  p.  309. 

The  Atonement:  Morgan,  ed.,  op.  cit.,  pp.  261-99.  Various  au- 
thors, The  Atonement  in  Modern  Religious  Thought  (Whitaker, 
1901).  Foundations,  chap.  vi.  C.  A.  Dinsmore,  Atonement  in  Lit- 
erature and  Life.  A.  Sabatier,  Doctrine  of  the  Atonement  and  its 

1  H.  W.  Pinkham,  in  Theology  at  the  Dawn  of  the  Twentieth  Century, 
p.  298. 


SALVATION,  CONVERSION,  AND  ATONEMENT         179 

Historical  Evolution.  R.  C.  Moberly,  Atonement  and  Personality. 
J.  Royce,  Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  i,  lects.  vi-vii.  B.  P.  Bowne, 
Studies  in  Christianity,  chap.  n.  R.  J.  Campbell,  New  Theology, 
chaps,  viii,  ix,  x,  xn.  Moore,  op.  cit.,  chap.  x.  J.  Caird,  Funda- 
mental Ideas  of  Christianity,  chaps,  xvi-xviii.  Biblical  World, 
vol.  42,  p.  67. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FAITH  AND   PRAYER 

If  the  outward  source  of  salvation,  for  Paul  and  the  many 
Christians  who  have  followed  in  his  steps,  was  Christ,  the 
inward  and  cooperating  factor,  equally  necessary,  was 
Faith.  "By  faith  are  ye  saved,"  the  great  apostle  taught  his 
converts;  and  there  is  no  directer  way  to  grasp  the  meaning 
of  this  term  than  through  a  study  of  the  experience  that  we 
call  "  Salvation  by  Faith."  Just  as  the  doctrine  of  the  Atone- 
ment resulted  from  an  attempt  to  explain  the  ultimate 
causes  and  conditions  of  this  experience,  so  the  Pauline- 
Lutheran  dogma  of  Justification  and  Sanctification  by  Faith 
was  an  interpretation  of  the  event  itself  in  terms  of  the  then 
current  theological  and  psychological  conceptions.  Our  aim 
should  be,  not  to  accept  as  inerrant  and  unalterable  these 
speculations  of  a  former  day,  but  to  revert  to  the  personal 
religious  experiences  which  gave  birth  to  them  and  to  inter- 
pret those  indubitable  and  significant  facts  in  terms  of  our 
modern  scientific  knowledge. 

What  is  the  nature  and  value  of  faith? 

Paul  is  the  type  of  earnest,  aspiring  man  for  whom  a  sensi- 
tive conscience  and  a  keen  sense  of  sin  are  not  enough  to 
overcome  temptation;  they  need  to  be  reinforced  by  a  great 
loyalty  and  a  new  assurance.  The  long  struggle  to  live  up  to 
outward  standards  left  him  discouraged  and  lacking  in  in- 
ward power;  what  he  needed,  and  found,  was  an  influx  of 
new  life,  to  lift  him  to  a  higher  plane.  It  was  the  getting  of  a 
"new  man";  it  was  "the  spirit  of  life  in  Christ  Jesus"  that 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER  181 

"freed"  him  "from  the  law  of  sin  and  death."  1  His  re- 
demption from  inner  discord  had  come,  with  an  intense  emo- 
tional crisis,  when  he  yielded  his  heart  to  the  Christ  whose 
followers  he  had  been  persecuting.  So  for  him  always,  to  be 
saved  —  made  safe  from  falling  —  required  the  giving  of  the 
heart  to  Christ.  If  a  man  was  willing  to  die,  as  it  were,  with 
Christ,  to  his  former  lusts  and  passions,  and  to  lay  hold  of 
the  Christ-life,  or,  in  Paul's  language,  let  Christ  live  in  him, 
Christ's  victory  over  sin  might  be  his  also. 

What  Paul  thereafter  opposed  (and  what  should  always 
be  contrasted  with  salvation  by  faith)  was  not  salvation  by 
good  conduct,  but  salvation  by  mere  external  compliances. 
The  surrender  of  heart  and  will  to  Christ,  which  he  de- 
manded, involved  purity  of  life,  involved  a  flat  abandon- 
ment of  all  the  old  lusts;  good  conduct  was  its  outcome  and 
test  —  "faith  without  works  is  dead."  The  secret  of  success 
was  the  substitution  of  the  positive  forces  of  loyalty  and 
optimism  for  the  paralyzing  sense  of  impotence  and  struggle; 
the  mind  was  henceforth  to  be  centered  on  Christ  and  the 
old  life  forgotten.  In  the  old  endeavor  to  fulfil  a  casuistic 
list  of  rules  there  had  been  no  inspiration,  but  a  perpetual 
realization  of  failure;  the  attainment  of  spirituality  seemed 
hopelessly  far  off.  But  with  the  new  hope  attainment  be- 
came possible  at  a  bound.  So  to  many  another  it  has  hap- 
pened that  godliness  has  been  best  won,  at  a  certain  critical 
point,  by  grasping  the  higher  life  through  the  imagination, 
and  claiming  it,  though  yet  unrealized,  as  an  actual  posses- 
sion; the  joyous  expectancy  of  success  turning  the  scales  in 
favor  of  the  new  habits.2 

1  Rom.  8:  2. 

2  The  value  of  the  method,  as  preached,  in  varying  theological  terms,  by 
so  many  followers  of  Paul,  in  bringing  a  new  force  of  hope  into  a  life,  is  well 
illustrated  by  this  extract  from  one  of  John  Wesley's  sermons:  "You  think, 
I  must  first  be  or  do  thus  or  thus  [to  be  saved].  Then  you  are  seeking  it 
by  works  unto  this  day.   If  you  seek  it  by  faith,  you  may  expect  it  as  you 


182  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

The  psychology  of  the  situation  would  be  explained  to-day 
somewhat  as  follows:  The  unhappy  sinner,  in  many  cases, 
has  the  power  to  live  aright  locked  up  in  his  heart,  but  un- 
able to  get  control  of  him  because  it  is  blocked  by  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  sinfulness;  the  formation  of  new  habits  is  inter- 
fered with  by  his  very  concentration  of  thought  upon  his 
previous  failures.  Suddenly  he  is  told  that  he  need  not  think 
of  his  temptations  any  longer,  that  he  has  but  to  let  go,  yield 
himself  to  some  one  who  is  his  Saviour,  or  to  the  Holy  Spirit 
in  himself,  and  the  power  of  right  living  will  be  his,  he  will  be 
saved.  The  suggestion  of  the  possession  of  power  is  potent 
enough  to  make  the  power  actually  sufficient.  The  mind  is 
fixed  upon  the  goal  instead  of  upon  the  obstacles,  is  freed 
from  the  demoralization  that  comes  from  a  remembrance  of 
past  weakness,  and  lives  in  the  atmosphere  of  attainment.1 

That  this  experience  was  not  understood,  that  it  was 
deemed  miraculous  and  materialized  into  an  outward  trans- 
action, wherein  God,  that  his  justice  and  mercy  might  both 
be  satisfied,  imputed  the  sinlessness  of  Christ  to  whosoever 
should  accept  his  offer  of  forgiveness,  has  not  wholly  under- 
mined its  efficacy  as  a  vital  means  of  deliverance  from  sin. 
The  interpretation  put  upon  it  is  of  small  importance  com- 
pared with  the  fact  of  its  existence.  While  men  are  prone  to 
sensuality  and  selfishness,  to  inner  discord  and  unhappiness, 

are;  then  expect  it  now.  It  is  of  importance  to  observe  that  there  is  an  in- 
separable connection  between  these  three  points:  expect  it  by  faith,  expect 
it  as  you  are,  and  expect  it  now." 

1  Cf.  J.  H.  Leuba,  in  American  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  vol.  1, 
p.  74:  Faith  "means  greater  suggestibility  to  the  circle  of  ideas  the  subject 
is  intent  upon  realizing,  and  deliverance,  if  not  from  the  presence,  at  least 
from  the  power,  of  those  other  tendential  ideas  against  which  he  has  been 
struggling." 

William  James's  memorable  description  of  the  salvation-by-faith  experi- 
ence may  be  found  in  his  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  205  ff.  His 
particular  contribution  lay  in  pointing  out  the  important  role  played  by  the 
subconscious  life  in  producing  these  experiences  of  abrupt  and  passive  sal- 
vation. 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER  183 

they  will  need  the  help  of  outward  influences  to  turn  them  to 
the  right  life;  and  theology,  though  naturally,  before  the 
very  recent  development  of  the  science  of  psychology,  far 
astray  in  its  comprehension  of  the  phenomenon,  has  in  its 
blind  fashion  clung  hold  of  this  valuable  method  of  Salvation 
by  Faith,  and  through  it  brought  to  many  purity  and  peace. 

The  true  importance  of  this  method,  however,  has  been 
greatly  obscured  by  its  veil  of  prescientific  conceptions;  and 
we  are  only  to-day,  with  our  better  understanding  of  its 
essential  nature,  beginning  to  appreciate  what  can  be  ac- 
complished by  it  for  health  of  mind,  even  for  health  of  body. 
More  or  less  gropingly  various  sects  of  recent  growth  are 
making  use  of  it  —  "Mind-Cure,"  "Faith-Cure,"  "New 
Thought,"  "Christian  Science."  In  varying  phraseology, 
and  with  widely  different  theoretical  explanations,  by  all  of 
these  cults  the  same  fundamental  psychological  truth  is 
exemplified  and  made  of  practical  service. 

But  what  should  already  be  clear  is,  that  this  faith,  which 
is  so  efficacious  in  spiritual,  and  even  in  physical  hygiene,  is 
something  very  different  from,  and  much  more  important 
than,  an  assent  to  doctrines,  i.e.,  to  statements  concerning 
supposed  historical  or  cosmological  facts.  Faith,  in  its  good 
sense,  is  not  credulity;  it  is  not  rightly  opposed  to  free  in- 
quiry, to  the  historical  spirit,  or  to  intellectual  conscien- 
tiousness. An  acceptance  of  beliefs  of  any  sort  has  never 
saved  any  one's  soul;  "  it  is  not  on  any  estimate  of  evidence, 
correct  or  incorrect,  that  our  true  holiness  can  depend."  We 
cannot  too  earnestly  oppose  all  demands  for  acceptance  of 
doctrines  which  would  not  of  their  own  obvious  reasona- 
bleness command  assent.  Such  a  "virtue"  would  really  be 
a  vice;  and  if  Faith  could  only  be  taken  to  mean  that,  it 
would  be  our  duty  to  refuse  it.1 

1  Cf.  T.  H.  Green,  sermon  on  Faith  :  "  If  faith  were  really  belief  in  the  oc- 
currence of  certain  miraculous  events  upon  transmitted  evidence  of  the 


184  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

There  are,  indeed,  other  legitimate  uses  of  the  term  be- 
sides that  which  we  are  considering.  It  may  be  used  in  the 
sense  of  trust  in  a  person  and  what  that  person  says.  There 
are  those  whose  vision  is  deeper  than  ours;  it  is  often  neces- 
sary and  sweet  to  rest  our  judgment  upon  theirs.  Multi- 
tudes of  Christians  thus  pin  their  faith  to  the  beliefs  that 
Christ  held  and  taught.  But  such  a  leaning  upon  another 
must  be  only  provisional;  we  cannot  ultimately  surrender 
our  judgment,  or  follow  blindly  a  leader,  however  dear  and 
worthy  of  our  reverence. 

In  a  slightly  different  sense,  faith  may  mean  the  adoption 
of  a  belief  as  a  working  hypothesis,  in  lack  of  sufficient  evi- 
dence to  convince  the  intellect  one  way  or  the  other.  Such  a 
faith  is,  again,  often  necessary,  and  of  great  value;  but  it 
must  remain  open  to  challenge  and  criticism,  be  freely  dis- 
carded if  evidence  against  it  appears,  and  never  assume  a 
certainty  that  it  does  not  actually  possess.1 

In  the  best  sense,  however,  in  the  sense  in  which  faith 
actually  saves,  it  is  not  a  belief  in  alleged  facts  (which  would 
ultimately  require  evidence  of  the  truth  of  those  facts  to 
justify  it),  but  a  moral  state,  a  disposition  of  the  heart  and 
will,  which  is  quite  independent  of  the  existence  or  non- 
existence of  any  outward  facts.  It  is  not  the  acceptance  of 
doctrines  on  scanty  evidence,  it  is  the  laying-hold,  through 
the  imagination,  on  a  higher  life;  the  keeping  of  the  mind  set 
on  it  when  lower  passions  obtrude  themselves  and  mar  the 
vision;  a  steadfast  refusal  to  let  the  concrete  failures  and 

senses  of  other  people,  its  certainty  would  after  all  he  merely  a  weaker  form 
of  the  certainty  of  sense.  Such  a  faith  is  neither  intrinsically  worth  main- 
taining, nor  in  the  long  run  can  it  maintain  itself,  against  the  demands  of 
reason.  Reason  will  not  be  kept  at  bay  by  being  told  that  certain  truths  are 
above  it,  when  these  'truths,'  if  they  are  anything  at  all,  are  propositions 
concerning  matters  of  fact  to  which  from  their  nature  the  principles  regu- 
lating all  knowledge  must  be  fully  applicable." 

1  The  ethics  of  faith,  in  these  two  senses,  will  be  discussed  below,  in 
chap.  xxv. 


FAITH  AND   PRAYER  185 

discouragements  of  the  day  turn  our  eyes  away  from  that 
ideal  of  our  life  whose  presence  is  our  inspiration  and  power. 
It  is  the  "  assurance  of  things  hoped  for"  —  that  is,  an  opti- 
mistic attitude,  a  believing  attitude  toward  the  future;  it  is 
"  the  conviction  of  things  not  seen  " ; l  that  is,  a  keeping  firm 
hold  of  the  intangible  realities  of  the  spiritual  life,  even  when 
their  worth  cannot  be  felt  and  their  glow  is  gone.2 

Faith  is  then  not  rightly  opposed  to  reason  —  nor  is  it  so 
opposed  in  the  Bible  —  but  to  sight ;  it  is  not  a  way  of  ascer- 
taining truth,  but  a  way  of  holding  on  to  truth  that  there  is 
ample  justification  for  believing.  Faith  cannot  tell  us  that 
water  will  buoy  us  up;  but  when  experience  has  taught  us 
that  it  will,  it  requires  faith  to  let  ourselves  plunge  in.  So 
in  religion :  we  recognize  the  truth  of  the  laws  of  the  spiritual 
life,  but  it  requires  faith  to  use  them ;  we  admit  the  superior- 
ity of  Christ's  way  of  life,  but  it  takes  faith  to  cleave  to  it 
when  passion  possesses  us  and  desire  points  another  way. 
Faith,  thus,  in  its  highest  and  moral  sense,  is  the  believing 
in  and  holding  on  to  an  ideal  of  life  against  all  the  tempta- 
tions and  foreshortening  illusions  of  the  senses.  The  diffi- 
culty in  the  way  of  it  is  not  an  intellectual  but  a  moral,  not 

1  Heb.  11:  1. 

2  Cf.,  for  current  definitions  of  faith,  Rev.  Elwood  Worcester:  "Faith 
makes  the  invisible  world  real  to  us,  convinces  us  that  the  things  of  the 
spirit  are  not  fancies  but  ultimate  realities."  W.  R.  Inge:  "Faith  is  the 
faculty  that  makes  real  to  us  the  future  and  the  unseen  .  .  .  frees  us  from  the 
trammels  of  time,  enabling  us  to  assume  a  heroic  attitude  in  face  of  tem- 
poral sufferings  by  regarding  events  szib  specie  eternitafis.,,  Dewey  and 
Tufts:  Faith  is  "the  staking  of  one's  self  upon  the  truth  and  worth  of  one's 
ideal."  So  Matthew  Arnold  (St.  Pavl  and  Protestantism,  chap,  n):  Faith 
is  "a  power,  preeminently,  of  holding  fast  to  an  unseen  power  of  goodness." 

In  Hastings's  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  Faith  is  defined  as  "a  trustful  ap- 
propriation of  Christ  and  a  surrender  of  self  to  his  salvation."  "Intellectual 
acceptance  is  not  at  all  the  Biblical  meaning." 

Leuba  defines  it  as  "the  formation  of  a  vital  partnership  with  the  repre- 
sentative of  an  ideal  (or  with  the  abstract  ideal  itself)  by  which  life  rises  to 
greater  intensity,  more  complete  inner  harmony  and  fuller  self-realization." 
(American  Journal  of  Religious  Psychology,  vol.  1,  p.  80.) 


186  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

an  objective  but  a  subjective  difficulty.  There  come  times 
to  the  best  of  us  when  ideals  seem  visionary  and  warm  throb- 
bing human  passions  alone  of  worth.  We  have  learned  that 
the  way  of  self-restraint  is  the  best  way  and  our  duty,  but 
for  the  moment  we  cannot  see  that  it  is  so.  We  have  to 
"walk  by  faith,  not  by  sight."  l  But  however  the  tempta- 
tion presses,  however  it  bids  us  call  purity  an  illusion  and 
yield  to  the  demands  of  the  senses,  if  we  keep  the  faith,  if  we 
are  faithful  to  our  ideal,  we  shall  be  saved. 

There  is  nothing  mysterious  about  this,  nothing  irrational. 
It  is  the  same  attitude  in  religion  that  has  made  men  suc- 
cessful in  other  matters.  Faith  is  not  to  be  found  exclusively 
in  religion.  Columbus,  refusing  to  let  fear  daunt  or  warnings 
dissuade  him,  keeping  steadily  his  faith  in  the  possibilities 
that  lay  before  him,  found  a  new  continent  for  man.  Alex- 
ander setting  out  to  conquer  the  world,  Grant  before  Vicks- 
burg,  Lincoln  facing  the  chaos  of  a  severed  country  —  all 
great  men  have  needed  a  strong  faith  in  their  ideals  to  nerve 
them  to  carry  them  successfully  through.  Men  are  proud  to 
have  faith  in  the  women  they  love,  mothers  in  their  sons, 
patriots  in  their  country  and  its  destiny.  How  much  more 
do  we  need  it  in  the  religious  life,  in  that  intangible  realm 
where  the  greatest  truths  so  easily  elude  us  or  become  ob- 
scured by  the  mists  of  pettiness  and  passion!  The  Christian 
personifies  his  ideal  in  Christ,  and  through  faith  in  him  rises 
above  his  weaknesses.  But  whether  it  come  through  Christ 
or  some  other  inspiring  leader,  or  through  our  own  experi- 
ence and  courage,  matters  little,  so  we  sternly  lay  aside  all 
discouragement  and  cynicism,  and  have  faith  in  our  spiritual 
possibilities,  faith  in  a  better  life  for  man,  a  faith  vivid  and 
real  enough  to  bring  our  whole  souls  to  the  realizing  of  those 
possibilities  and  the  bringing  about  of  that  better  order. 

1  2  Cor.  5:  7. 


FAITH  AND   PRAYER  187 

What  has  been  the  evolution  of  prayer? 

The  religious  life,  instinctive  as  under  certain  conditions 
and  in  certain  moods  it  is,  maintains  itself  with  difficulty  in 
the  average  human  soul,  and  has  need  of  every  possible  sup- 
port and  stay.  It  needs  that  dogged  devotion  through  all 
doubts  and  temptations  that  we  call  faith ;  it  needs  also  that 
daily  communion  with  God  and  rededication  of  spirit  that 
we  call  prayer.  Prayer,  however,  like  so  many  other  of  the 
concepts  and  practices  of  developed  religion,  has  sprung 
historically  from  a  non-religious  and  superstitious  source. 
Its  beginnings  lay  in  the  frantic  and  haphazard  attempts  of 
primitive  man  to  avert  disaster  when  no  practical  methods 
suggested  themselves  —  in  the  cries  and  gesticulations  and 
prostrations  that  were  the  instinctive  reaction  of  his  uneasy 
and  bewildered  body.  Thence  it  developed  in  three  main 
directions,  of  which  we  may  in  turn  speak. 

(1)  Spell- prayer.  Certain  experiences  of  the  power  of  a 
dominant  personality  over  other  men,  combined  with  chance 
successes  which  seemed  to  prove  a  power  over  nature,  gave 
rise  to  practices  of  incantation,  conjuration,  and  elaborate 
strategy,  which  are  commonly  summed  up  by  the  term 
"  magic."  In  magical  practices  the  supernatural  powers  are 
summoned,  domineered  over,  utilized,  without  need  of  win- 
ning their  favor.  By  the  proper  spells  the  savage  believes  he 
can  bend  their  wills  to  his  and  command  their  services.  The 
Arabian  Nights'  tales  amply  illustrate  this  widespread  prim- 
itive conception;  the  genie  whom  Aladdin  summons,  for 
example,  is  his  bounden  slave;  only,  just  the  right  act  must 
be  performed,  just  the  right  words  spoken.  In  other  cases 
the  effect  of  the  magic  may  be  directly  upon  one's  enemy  or 
friend.  But  in  all  these  cases  there  is  no  appeal,  no  petition, 
but  rather  coercion,  through  some  mysterious  and  occult 
means.  There  is  something  exciting  and  alluring  about  such 


188  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

operations;  and  in  spite  of  the  skepticism  of  modern  science 
magic  dies  hard.  The  belief  in  witchcraft  flourished  in  the 
cultured  New  England  of  a  few  generations  ago;  the  "evil 
eye"  is  an  undoubted  fact  in  some  parts  of  Italy  to-day. 
Multitudes  of  Catholics  attribute  a  magical  efficacy  to  the 
making  of  the  sign  of  the  cross  or  the  telling  of  beads.  Exor- 
cisms are  still  practiced,  relics  and  bones  of  saints  are  be- 
lieved to  have  healing  power;  one  may  even  suggest  that 
the  phrase  "  for  Christ's  sake"  is  felt  by  many  petitioners 
to  exercise  a  sort  of  compelling  influence  upon  God. 

(2)  Petition-prayer.  Magic  perhaps  antedated  animism. 
But  with  the  development  of  animistic  conceptions  of  na- 
ture, supplication  was  naturally  made  for  favors  needed  and 
for  the  averting  of  calamities  feared.  So  widespread  did  this 
habit  become  that  the  word  "prayer"  means  to  most  men 
to-day  "petition."  But  with  the  discovery  of  the  seeming 
omnipresence  of  natural  law,  and  the  widespread  modern 
doubts  as  to  the  existence  of  personality  behind  nature,  the 
habit  has,  among  educated  people,  become  severely  shaken. 
Is  God  a  Being  who  hears  and  answers  petitions?  If  he  can 
be  assumed  to  be  such  a  conscious  Ruler  of  the  universe, 
with  the  interests  of  men  at  heart,  does  he  deflect  his  great 
purposes  at  the  wish  of  individuals,  or  even  of  groups?  Is  it 
not  rather  a  worthier  conception  of  God  that  he  should  know 
and  plan  what  is  best  for  men,  and  hold  to  that  plan  in  spite 
of  their  blind  and  foolish  requests?  Or  do  we  know,  after  all, 
that  God  is  omnipotent,  that  he  can  break  the  chain  of 
natural  law  if  he  would,  that  he  can  give  to  men  all  the 
blessings  he  might  long  for  them  to  have? 

All  such  questions  must  wait  upon  our  particular  concep- 
tion of  God  and  the  universe;  they  cannot  be  answered,  even 
as  a  matter  of  probability,  at  this  stage  in  our  inquiry.  And, 
to  anticipate  the  outcome  of  our  later  discussion,1  we  may 
1  See,  especially,  chaps,  xviii  and  xxm. 


FAITH  AND   PRAYER  189 

frankly  confess  here  that,  in  the  present  state  of  our  knowl- 
edge, they  cannot  be  answered  at  all  with  assurance.  Mod- 
ern conceptions  of  the  nature  of  God,  of  the  relation  of  God 
to  the  world,  and  of  the  possibility  of  supernatural  inter- 
vention in  the  natural  order,  are  as  yet  fluctuating  and  fluid; 
no  safe  deductions  can  be  drawn,  a  priori,  as  to  the  answer- 
ing of  petitions.  And  when  we  come  to  a  posteriori  evidence, 
we  must  admit,  if  we  are  as  scrupulous  here  as  in  other  mat- 
ters, that  there  is  none  that  approaches  conclusiveness. 
Innumerable  cases  of  apparently  answered  prayer  are,  of 
course,  available;  but  if  cases  of  apparently  unanswered 
prayer  were  as  zealously  collected  they  would  probably  far 
outbulk  the  others.  No  scientifically  conducted  statistical 
study  has  ever  been  made,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  writer  of 
this  volume,  to  ascertain  whether  the  number  of  "answers" 
exceeds  the  probabilities  of  coincidence,  coupled  with  the 
human  efforts  that  are  usually  also  made.1  The  fact  that  so 
many  saints,  that  Jesus  himself,  our  spiritual  leader,  be- 
lieved implicitly  in  the  power  and  desire  of  God  to  grant 
human  petitions,  can  no  longer  be  felt  as  proof.  In  so  many 
ways  these  peerless  souls  were  mistaken  in  their  conceptions; 
if  they  were  above  their  age  in  spiritual  insight,  they  shared 
its  errors  as  to  matters  of  fact.  Saintliness  and  moral  power 
are  no  guaranty  of  the  truth  of  the  theological  conceptions 
that  in  any  given  environment  go  w4th  them;  on  the  con- 
trary, practical  religious  genius  rarely  goes  hand  in  hand 
with  power  of  analysis  or  a  scientific  sense.2 

1  Cf.  the  proposal  for  such  an  inquiry  made  by  Tyndall  in  1872.  Quite  a 
discussion  ensued.  See  Contemporary  Retieiv,  vol.  20,  pp.  205,  430,  763,  777; 
vol.  21,  pp.  183,  464.   Fortnightly  Review,  new  series,  vol.  12,  p.  125. 

2  In  a  questionnaire  conducted  by  the  author  of  this  volume  among  col- 
lege graduates  in  this  country,  the  question  was  asked,  "Does  prayer  avail 
to  change  the  sequence  of  natural  events  in  addition  to  its  effect  upon  him 
who  prays?"  Nearly  all  the  respondents  were  professed  Christians.  Of 
these  twenty-five  per  cent  were  convinced,  and  eleven  per  cent  more  clung 
to  faith,  or  hope,  that  it  does  so  avail.    Thirty-eight  per  cent  positively  dis- 


190  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

But  not  to  be  able  to  prove  is  by  no  means  to  disprove. 
So,  however  unsatisfying  the  results  of  candid  investigation 
may  be,  millions  of  petitions  will  continue  to  arise  from 
yearning  hearts  the  world  over;  and  the  desired  blessings,  if 
they  come,  will  be  deemed  answers  thereto.  And  even  if 
these  happy  believers  are  cherishing  an  illusion,  no  harm  can 
possibly  come  therefrom,  but  rather  much  good,  unless  human 
effort  is  relaxed,  in  reliance  upon  superhuman  help,  or  unless 
the  judgment  of  men  as  to  evidence  and  logic  is  blurred 
by  their  practical  reliance  upon  an  unproved  postulate. 

(3)  Communion-  and  consecration-prayer .  But  the  con- 
troversy over  the  outward  efficacy  of  prayer  must  not  too 
exclusively  engage  us.  For  the  usefulness  and  rationality  of 
prayer  do  not  stand  or  fall  with  our  verdict  upon  that  point. 
In  any  case,  prayer  is  chiefly  useful  for  the  production  of 
inward  and  spiritual  changes.  If  we  finally  learn  that  the 
universe  is  so  made  that  prayer  cannot  produce  rain,  or  pre- 
vent a  shipwreck,  if  that  is  not  the  kind  of  thing  that  prayer 
accomplishes,  religion  need  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  the 
fact.  If  obtruding  our  personal  petitions  upon  the  Univer- 
sal Life  is  futile,  communion  with  God,  and  repeated  dedi- 
cation of  our  hearts  to  God,  is  a  practice  of  unquestionable 
reasonableness  and  worth.  There  are  sources  of  spiritual 
energy  which  we  can  tap;  they  were  very  early  found  by 
praying  men,  and  prayer  tends  to  become,  in  ever-increasing 
degree,  communion  and  consecration.1 

believed  it,  twenty-six  per  cent  had  no  opinion.  See  Independent,  vol.  15, 
p.  755. 

1  Cf.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  464:  "Every  one  now 
knows  that  droughts  and  storms  follow  from  physical  antecedents,  and  that 
moral  appeals  cannot  avert  them.  But  petitional  prayer  is  only  one  depart- 
ment of  prayer;  and  if  we  take  the  word  in  the  wider  sense  as  meaning  every 
kind  of  inward  communion  or  conversation  with  the  power  recognized  as 
divine,  we  can  easily  see  that  scientific  criticism  leaves  it  untouched. 
Prayer  in  this  wide  sense  is  the  very  soul  and  essence  of  religion." 

So  M.  \V.  Calkins,  in  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  4,  p.  496:  "Histor- 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER  191 

What  is  the  function  and  value  of  prayer? 

Leaving  open,  then,  the  question  as  to  the  outward  effi- 
cacy of  prayer,  we  can  at  least  say  that  its  chief  efficacy  is 
inward.  Prayer  is  vital  for  the  soul's  life;  and  no  man,  what- 
everTiis  theological  position,  can  afford  to  do  without  it. 
Jesus  gave  the  reason  when  he  said,  "This  kind  goeth  not 
out  but  by  prayer."  He  prayed  constantly  himself,  and 
doubtless  drew  from  that  source  much  of  his  inward  strength. 
The  apostle  likewise  bids  us  "pray  without  ceasing"  —  be- 
cause men  are  "  sanctified  by  the  word  of  God  and  prayer."  l 
So  down  the  centuries  the  strong  men  have  been  the  praying 
men.  More  things,  truly,  are  wrought  by  prayer  than  the 
heedless,  happy-go-lucky  world  dreams  of;  the  experience 
of  the  saints  testifies  abundantly  to  its  almost  limitless 
power  over  temptation,  fear,  and  even  physical  weakness.2 
Whether  or  not  prayer  can  alter  the  face  of  nature,  it 
certainly  can  alter  us  —  and  far  more  radically  than  a 
superficial  thought  might  suggest.  Beneath  our  shallow  and 
i  fleeting  conscious  life  lie  the  unplumbed  depths  of  the  sub- 
conscious; thoughts  and  moods  that  make  no  immediate 
outward  mark  upon  a  man's  conduct  have  their  slowly  ac- 
cumulating effect  therein,  which,  some  day  revealing  itself, 
may  surprise  every  one,  perhaps  no  one  more  than  the  man 
himself.  Prayer  reaches  down  to  these  hidden  strata  of  our 

ical  investigation  and  psychological  analysis  unite  in  the  demonstration 
that  prayer  is  more  than  petition." 

And  Rev.  J.  H.  Crooker,  The  Church  of  To-morrow:  "The  simple  fact  is 
that  God  has  not  given  human  desire  a  mechanical  efficiency  in  the  phys- 
ical world,  any  more  than  He  has  given  the  force  of  gravity  a  psycholog- 
ical efficiency  in  the  world  of  human  thought.  .  .  .  And  yet  true  prayer  is 
not  ruled  out  of  even  those  realms  by  this  interpretation.  Whatever  helps 
the  bridge-builder,  the  engineer,  and  the  farmer  to  a  divine  life  makes  pos- 
sible a  stronger  bridge,  a  safer  train,  a  better  harvest." 

1  Mark  14:  38.    Matt.  17:  21.    1  Thess.  5:  17.    1  Tim.  4:  5. 

2  For  one  testimony  to  the  marvelous  efficacy  of  prayer  inwardly,  see 
the  Outlook,  vol.  83,  p.  857. 


192  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

lives,  and  may  profoundly  influence  them.  Through  it  many 
a  man  has  overcome  faults  of  temper  or  of  sense  that 
sorely  beset  him,  and  has  emerged  from  his  closet  master  of 
himself  and  easily  virtuous  in  the  eyes  of  a  world  that  knew 
nothing  of  his  secret  struggles. 

To  take  then  some  regular  time  of  the  day  for  meditation 
upon  our  duties  and  our  needs,  for  turning  our  minds  back 
from  the  practical  affairs  or  the  pleasures  that  choke  our 
higher  aspirations,  to  the  fundamental  and  serious  aspects 
of  life  —  this  practice,  steadily  and  undeviatingly  followed, 
is  the  only  safe  method  by  which  most  men  can  keep  even 
approximately  true  to  their  own  ideals.  At  such  moments 
the  irritation,  the  petulance,  the  passions  that  may  have 
overswept  the  heart  are  hushed  and  brought  sharply  into 
contrast  with  the  purity  and  unselfishness  and  self-restraint 
to  which  it  is  pledged;  if  the  prayer  is  sincere,  their  gathering 
momentum  cannot  but  be  stopped  and  the  heart  purged  and 
reinvigorated.  Even  if  no  violent  passions  have  invaded  its 
sanctuary,  the  dust  of  petty  thoughts  and  paltry  feelings 
inevitably  gathers  and  calls  for  a  periodic  house-cleaning 
that  should  be  not  too  infrequent.  Out  of  the  whirl  and  dis- 
tractions of  the  day,  out  of  the  mistakes  and  the  failures, 
back  to  the  pure  atmosphere  of  the  ideal  let  a  man  turn, 
where  strength  is  to  be  gathered  to  meet  the  perplexities  and 
temptations  that  await  him. 

By  the  thoughts  that  are  in  a  man's  heart  will  his  actions 
be  guided.  Wisely  spake  the  lawgiver  when  he  wrote,  "Thou 
shalt  talk  of  these  things  when  thou  sittest  in  thine  house, 
and  when  thou  walkest  by  the  way,  and  when  thou  liest 
down,  and  when  thou  risest  up."  l  Wise  are  the  apostle's 
words,  "  Whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are 
pure  .  .  .  think  on  these  things."  2  A  hundred  times  a  day 
is  none  too  often  to  think  on  them;  if  the  pause  is  only  for  a 
1  Deut.  6:  7.  2  Phil.  4:  8. 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER  193 

moment  it  may  lighten  an  hour,  like  a  sudden  burst  of  sun- 
shine in  cloudy  weather.  But  at  least  once  in  a  day,  and  at  a 
regular  hour,  lest  it  be  forgotten,  there  should  be  a  lull  in  the 
active  life  and  a  consecration  prolonged  enough  to  bring  the 
heart  well  under  the  spell  of  its  ideals.1 

Surely  the  time  and  effort  thus  spent,  even  if  taken  from  a 
busy  and  useful  life,  are  richly  rewarded.  That  is,  if  the 
prayer  is  directed  to  the  actual  needs  of  a  man's  heart  and  is 
not  a  vague  emotional  debauch  or  mechanical  repetition  of 
words.  Prayer  may  be  a  sort  of  aesthetic  ecstasy;  it  may  be 
an  anaesthetic  that  blinds  us  to  our  pressing  duties;  it  may 
be  a  vain  agonizing  over  our  own  troubles  or  those  of  our 
loved  ones;  it  may  be  nothing  but  "vain  repetitions,"  such 
as  Jesus  denounced.  There  are  many  possible  distortions  of 
prayer,  —  the  complacent  praise  of  the  well-fed  congrega- 
tion, that  ignores  the  hopeless  misery  of  its  poorer  neigh- 
bors, the  parrot-like  mumbling  of  the  churchman  whose 

1  Cf.  Matthew  Arnold  {Literature  and  Dogma,  chap,  i):  "All  good  and 
beneficial  prayer  is  in  truth,  however  men  may  describe  it,  at  bottom  noth- 
ing else  than  an  energy  of  aspiration  towards  the  eternal  not  ourselves  that 
makes  for  righteousness,  —  of  aspiration  towards  it,  and  of  cooperation 
with  it.  Nothing  therefore  can  be  more  efficacious,  more  right  and  more 
real." 

Cf.  also  Tolstoy  (in  a  private  letter):  "But  because  petitionary  prayer 
has  no  meaning,  it  does  not  follow  that  one  cannot  or  should  not  pray.  On 
the  contrary,  I  believe  it  is  impossible  to  live  without  prayer,  and  that 
prayer  is  the  necessary  condition  of  a  good,  peaceful  and  happy  life.  .  .  . 
In  every  man  there  is  a  divine  spark,  the  Spirit  of  God.  Prayer  consists  in 
calling  forth  in  one's  self  the  divine  element  while  renouncing  all  that  is  of 
this  world,  all  which  can  distract  one's  feelings.  .  .  .  Free  solitary  prayer 
consists  of  all  which  in  the  words  of  other  wise  and  righteous  men,  or  in 
one's  own,  brings  the  soul  back  to  the  consciousness  of  its  divine  source,  to  a 
more  vivid  and  clear  expression  of  the  demands  of  one's  conscience,  i.e., 
of  one's  divine  nature.  Prayer  is  a  test  of  one's  present  and  past  actions  ac- 
cording to  the  highest  demands  of  the  soul.  ...  I  also  endeavor  to  pray 
during  the  daily  round  of  my  life,  while  I  am  with  men  and  passions  are  get- 
ting hold  of  me.  It  is  in  these  cases  I  try  to  recall  to  mind  all  that  took  place 
in  my  soul  during  my  solitary  prayer,  and  the  more  sincere  that  prayer  was, 
the  easier  it  is  to  refrain  from  evil." 


194  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

mind  in  its  blankness  is  vaguely  soothed  by  the  rising  and 
falling  cadences,  the  sanctimonious  orisons  of  the  monk 
whose  hands  are  unsoiled  by  practical  service,  the  wail  for 
alleviation  of  their  lot  from  the  discontented.  Only  that 
prayer  is  right  that  is  manly  and  brave,  that  accepts  without 
cringing  whatever  lot  befalls;  only  that  prayer  is  useful  that 
is  relevant  to  the  practical  duties  of  a  life ;  only  that  prayer 
is  worthy  that  is  spontaneous  and  earnest  and  into  which  a 
man's  whole  heart  is  poured;  only  that  prayer  is  to  be  urged 
which  is  necessary  to  keep  a  man  living  up  to  the  best  of  his 
capabilities  and  at  the  height  of  his  powers. 

Familiar  phrases  have  their  value,  especially  if  they  come 
from  the  pen  of  some  loved  teacher  or  revered  sage.  Few 
men  have  pondered  and  read  enough  to  be  able  to  clothe 
their  own  aspirations  adequately  in  words;  except  for  this 
borrowing  of  others'  prayers,  their  aspirations  would  remain 
largely  inarticulate  and  lacking  in  that  powerful  reinforce- 
ment that  they  might  receive  from  embodiment  in  fitting 
terms  and  moving  periods.  Then,  to  repeat  the  expression  of 
another's  resolves,  and  to  find  that  they  coincide  with  one's 
own,  is  to  draw  close  in  spirit  to  him  and  to  feel  one's  own 
aspirations  as  a  part  of  the  whole  uplooking  heart  of  human- 
ity. In  the  repetition  of  such  prayers  a  breath  of  the  other's 
aspiration,  a  strengthening  influence  from  the  other's  re- 
solve, a  new  insight  and  higher  vision  may  come,  that  one 
groping  alone  with  his  problems  would  never  have  found. 

The  danger  in  such  repetitions  is  that  they  become  mere 
words  and  fail  to  reach  the  heart;  that  they  miss  the  real 
needs  of  the  struggling  soul  and  represent  duties  and  long- 
ings alien  to  its  problems.  Better  than  such  empty  forms  is 
the  freshly  worded  prayer,  the  personal  cry  of  the  individual 
heart,  however  confused  and  incoherent,  that  expresses  its 
own  longings  and  its  genuine  resolves.  And  in  the  task  of 
putting  into  words  the  ideals  one  wishes  to  attain,  or  stigma- 


FAITH  AND  PRAYER  195 

tizing  in  its  proper  light  the  particular  sin  one  wishes  to 
overcome,  a  good  deal  is  accomplished.  No  one  whose  battle 
with  his  lower  nature  is  a  real  and  pressing  matter  will  rest 
content  with  a  mere  use  of  another's  phrases;  his  own  ex- 
tremity or  the  particular  beauty  that  lies  to  him  in  some 
noble  manner  of  life  will  formulate  for  him  better  than  any 
other  could  do  the  words  he  shall  say. 

No  half-hearted  prayer  will  do,  no  perfunctory  murmuring 
of  words,  as  if  the  very  exercise  itself  were  commendable  and 
a  duty.  If  it  is  worth  doing  at  all  it  is  worth  doing  effec- 
tively. It  may  be  well  for  the  child  to  grow  into  the  habit  of 
prayer  before  he  is  old  enough  to  make  it  a  vital  thing  to 
him;  it  may  be  that  phrases  repeated  with  little  thought  or 
earnestness  will  linger  in  his  mind  and  come  to  his  rescue  in 
some  later  trouble.  But  what  counts  ultimately  is  the  con- 
secration of  heart,  the  spirit  of  willingness  and  resolve;  and 
the  constant  bringing  of  that  spirit  into  the  foreground  of 
consciousness  until  it  becomes  the  dominant  mood,  so 
wholly  the  dominant  mood  that  not  even  in  some  careless  or 
tired  moment  can  the  unkind  word  or  impulse  of  passion  slip 
out  and  pass  into  irrevocable  fact. 

Faith:  G.  B.  Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity, 
chaps,  xv-xvi.  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  116-35. 
P.  Strutt,  Nature  of  Faith.  J.  H.  Skrine,  What  is  Faith?  C.  C. 
Everett,  Theism  and  the  Christian  Faith,  chap.  xxxn.  T.  H.  Green, 
Faith  (in  Two  Sermons).  C.  Gore,  ed.,  Lux  Mundi,  chap.  1.  G.  L. 
Dickinson,  Religion,  a  Criticism  and  a  Forecast,  chap.  iv.  W.  R. 
Inge,  Faith  and  its  Ps7jchology.  American  Journal  of  Religious  Psy- 
chology, vol.  1,  p.  65. 

Prayer:  L.  R.  Farnell,  Evolution  of  Religion,  chap.  iv.  F.  B. 
Jevons,  Prayer  (in  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Comparative  Reli- 
gion). A.  Sabatier,  Outlines  of  a  Philosophy  of  Religion,  bk.  1,  chap. 
iv,  sec.  4.  R.  R.  Marett,  Threshold  of  Religion,  chap.  11.  A.  L. 
Strong,  Psychology  of  Prayer.  D.  W.  Faunce,  Prayer  a,?  a  Theory 
and  as  a  Fact.  G.  S.  Merriam,  Prayers  and  their  Ansivers  (in  The 
Man  of  To-day).  W.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  chap. 


196  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

19.  G.  B.  Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity,  chap, 
xxvni.  E.  S.  Ames,  Psychology  of  Religious  Experience,  chap. 
viii.  E.  H.  Rowland,  Right  to  Believe,  chap.  vi.  W.  E.  Hocking, 
Meaning  of  God  in  Human  Experience,  chap.  xxix.  G.  A.  Coe, 
Religion  of  a  Mature  Mind,  chap.  xi.  W.  N.  Rice,  Prayer  (in  Chris- 
tian Faith  in  an  Age  of  Science).  J.  Wendland,  Miracles  and  Chris- 
tianity, chap.  vn.  G.  Santayana,  Reason  in  Religion,  pp.  38-48. 
R.  C.  Cabot,  What  Men  Live  By,  pt.  iv.  Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  9, 
p.  385.  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  4,  p.  489.  American  Jour- 
nal of  Religious  Psychology,  vol.  i,  p.  129;  vol.  2,  pp.  108,  160. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND  PEACE 

The  spirit  of  love  and  service  in  religion 

Sacrifice,  faith,  and  prayer  are  necessary  as  means  of 
saving  the  individual  life  from  its  pitfalls.  But  if  the  ad- 
justment of  a  man's  impulses  to  his  own  needs  forces  itself 
perhaps  most  unavoidably  upon  his  attention,  the  disciplin- 
ing of  his  attitude  toward  others  is  in  the  long  run  even  more 
essential.  That  he  sink  into  the  mire  of  unrestrained  vice 
himself  is  less  of  a  harm  than  that  he  hurt  those  about  him; 
and  though  he  save  his  own  soul,  if  he  help  not  his  neighbor 
his  religion  is  a  narrow  and  petty  affair.  Human  life,  being 
necessarily  social,  demands,  not  only  that  we  harmonize 
with  one  another  our  chaotic  impulses,  but  that  we  adapt 
them,  at  whatever  cost,  to  the  wills  and  needs  of  others. 
Pure  religion  and  undefiled  has  these  two  leading  aspects: 
ministering  love  —  "to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in 
their  affliction";  and  personal  purity  —  "to  keep  one's  self 
unspotted  from  the  world."  l 

These  two  aspects  of  the  religious  life  naturally  go  to- 
gether, self-restraint  for  one's  own  sake  merging  with  self- 
restraint  for  the  sake  of  others.  But  there  is  also  a  certain 
tendency  of  purity,  when  unbalanced  by  charity,  to  be  un- 
sympathetic, hard,  and  narrow;  and  the  purest  are  some- 
times the  most  unlovable  of  people.  As  we  grow  higher  in 
our  ideals  and  stricter  with  ourselves  we  loathe  sin  more  and 
more,  and  very  easily  fall  into  loathing  the  sinner.  Faults 
that  are  readily  overlooked  by  the  average  easy-going  man 

1  Jas.  1 :  27. 


198  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

incite  the  vigorous  condemnation  of  the  purist;  with  weak- 
ness which  he  has  himself  conquered  he  has  scant  patience, 
and  for  ideals  foreign  to  his  own  he  has  no  sympathy.  The 
Psalms,  for  instance,  with  their  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness,  are  full  of  maledictions  against  evildoers,  and 
show  a  temper  often  far  from  charitable.  By  the  noblest 
religion,  however,  not  only  self-indulgence  and  avarice  and 
lust  are  branded  as  sins,  but  haughtiness  and  self-conceit, 
the  spirit  that  says,  "Lord,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not  as 
these!"  For  even  these  are  our  brothers  too,  whom  we  are 
to  save  from  sin  if  we  can,  but  in  any  case  to  love.  If  they 
offend  against  us  we  are  not  to  give  way  to  "righteous  indig- 
nation," —  that  phrase  by  which  Christians  have  justified 
anger  and  enmity,  —  but  are  to  forgive  seven  times  —  nay, 
seventy  times  seven  times.  "For  love  suffereth  long  and  is 
kind,  love  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  provoked,  taketh  not 
account  of  evil  —  endureth  all  things." 

But  even  when  religion  has  not  led  men  to  a  positively 
hard-hearted  attitude  toward  their  fellows,  it  has  often  con- 
centrated their  thoughts  unworthily  upon  personal  salva- 
tion, to  the  neglect  of  their  proper  office  of  helpfulness.  They 
have  built  cathedrals  that  soothed  their  spirits  and  drew 
them  individually  nearer  to  God,  they  have  with  prayer  and 
mortification  of  the  flesh  striven  to  conquer  some  trivial 
fault  that  weighed  on  their  conscience;  but  at  the  end  the 
world  has  been  little  better  or  happier  for  their  lives.  Against 
this  spirit  many  a  religious  reformer  has  striven.  The  real 
saint  Is  he  who  asks,  not  "What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved?" 
but,  "What  shall  I  do  to  be  of  service?"  Not  the  hermit  in 
his  solitary  fastings,  not  the  monk  with  his  endless  concern 
that  his  sins  be  forgiven,  but  St.  Francis,  binding  with  his 
own  hands  the  leper's  wounds,  Darwin,  devoting  the  toil  of 
a  lifetime  for  the  benefit  of  human  knowledge,  those  private 
soldiers  who  risked  their  lives  in  the  fight  against  yellow  fever 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND   PEACE  199 

in  Cuba,  a  million  hard-working,  self-sacrificing  men  and 
women  the  world  over  —  these  are  the  true  Christians,  the 
true  saints  and  heroes  of  humanity.1 

Worse  than  scorn  or  indifference,  however,  have  been  the 
persecutions,  inquisitions,  and  crusades  into  which  religious 
zeal  has  led  men.  Families  have  been  divided,  man  has  gone 
to  war  with  brother  man,  and  religion  has  at  times  seemed 
the  greatest  enemy  of  human  concord.  In  the  mediaeval 
ideal  of  chivalry  —  that  curious  and  romantic  blend  of 
Christianity  and  paganism  —  the  combative  instinct  re- 
ceived a  religious  consecration.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  Christianity,  with  its  initial  proclamation  of  peace  and 
good-will  toward  men,  would  put  an  end  to  war;  the  early 
Christians,  indeed,  condemned  it,  even  to  the  point  of  refus- 
ing military  service.  But  Constantine  fought  under  the 
cross,  Augustine  and  Ambrose  defended  war,  the  aggression 
of  Islam  had  to  be  met;  and  so  "the  cross  became  the  handle 
of  a  sword."  This  martial  religion,  this  militant  church,  had 
its  noble  and  glorious  side,  to  which  we  cannot  but  respond, 
as  we  read,  for  example,  in  Shakespeare's  glowing  words,  of 
Norfolk's  death :  — 

"Many  a  time  hath  banished  Norfolk  fought 
For  Jesu.  Christ  in  glorious  Christian  field, 
Streaming  the  ensign  of  the  Christian  cross 
Against  black  Pagans,  Turks,  and  Saracens; 
And,  toiled  with  works  of  war,  retired  himself 
To  Italy;  and  there,  at  Venice,  gave 
His  body  to  that  pleasant  country's  earth, 
And  his  pure  soul  unto  his  captain  Christ, 
Under  whose  colours  he  had  fought  so  long." 

Nevertheless,  in  its  best  days  religion  has  known  how  to 
unite  personal  zeal  with  sympathy,  a  passionate  devotion  to 
its  ideal,  and  a  stern  self-denial  with  tenderness  toward  the 
weak  and  erring  and  those  of  alien  faith.   It  has  taught,  on 

1  Cf.  Mazzini,  "When  I  see  any  man  called  good,  I  ask,  'Whom,  then, 
has  he  saved?'" 


200  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

the  one  hand,  "Be  ye  perfect,"  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
"Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged."  The  pietas  of  the  Ro- 
mans —  their  truly  religious  loyalty  to  family  and  state  — 
and  the  intense  national  consciousness  of  the  Jews  were 
widened  by  Christianity  into  a  recognition  of  universal 
brotherhood.  The  parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan  taught 
the  lesson.  "We  who  are  many  are  one  body,"  wrote  the 
Apostle;  and  again,  to  Jews  and  Greeks  and  Romans,  "All 
ye  are  brethren."  l 

It  was  not  enough  to  refrain  from  judging  one's  neighbors 
and  pointing  at  them  the  finger  of  scorn;  Christianity  in- 
sisted upon  positive  sympathy  and  service.  The  precepts  of 
Isaiah  were  followed  —  to  "seek  justice,  relieve  the  op- 
pressed, secure  justice  for  the  orphaned  and  plead  for  the 
widow."  2  The  great  Hebrew  prophets  had  been  spokesmen 
of  the  common  people;  the  Jewish  lawgivers  had  shown  a 
marked  humaneness  toward  the  poor  of  the  land,  and  even 
the  resident  alien.  Jesus  had  mingled  with  all  classes,  re- 
buked the  pride  and  self-seeking  of  his  disciples,  and  set  an 
incomparable  example  of  tenderness  and  practical  charity. 
To  the  rich  young  man  of  stainless  reputation  he  said,  "One 
thing  thou  lackest;  go,  sell  whatsoever  thou  hast,  and  give 
to  the  poor";  on  another  occasion  he  bade  his  hearers,  when 
they  asked  guests  to  dine,  invite  not  the  rich  who  could 
repay  the  kindness,  but  the  poor  who  could  not  repay.3  In 
similar  vein  Paul  and  the  author  of  the  Book  of  James  had 
rebuked  their  churches  for  their  caste  spirit  and  lack  of 
brotherliness.4  In  accordance  with  this  teaching,  the  collec- 
tions in  the  primitive  church  were  spent  almost  wholly  for 
the  service  of  the  poor;  indeed,  the  very  organization  of  the 
church  was  designed  primarily  for  this  fraternal  helpfulness. 
The  sick,  infirm,  and  disabled  were  cared  for,  the  richer 

1  Rom.  12:  5.  *  Isa.  1 :  17.  »  Mark  10:  21.  Luke  14: 12-H. 

4  1  Cor.  11 :  17-34,  etc.   Jas.  2:1-4. 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND  PEACE  201 

members  gave  their  property  freely,  work  was  found  for  the 
unemployed,  and  the  paradox  of  Jesus  was  followed  seriously 
and  with  joy  —  "Whosoever  will  be  great  among  you,  let 
him  be  your  minister;  and  whosoever  will  be  chief  among 
you,  let  him  be  your  servant."  l 

So  important  for  early  Christianity  was  this  spirit  of  love 
and  service  that  it  seemed  to  many  —  as  it  has  seemed  to 
many  since  —  the  quintessence  of  religion.  Jesus  had  said 
that  the  two  greatest  commandments  were  the  love  of  God 
and  of  man;  Paul  went  so  far  as  to  say,  "The  whole  law  is 
fulfilled  in  one  word,  even  in  this :  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neigh- 
bor as  thyself";  and  again,  of  faith,  hope,  and  love  he  said, 
"The  greatest  of  these  is  love."  2 

Nor  is  this  caritas  of  Paul's  matchless  eulogy  a  product 
exclusively  of  Christianity.  Buddhism  is  full  of  it.  Marcus 
Aurelius,  the  Stoic,  has  many  passages  in  such  vein  as  these : 
"Be  always  doing  something  serviceable  to  mankind;  and 
let  this  constant  generosity  be  your  only  pleasure."  "It  is 
man's  peculiar  power  to  love  even  those  who  do  wrong.  And 
this  is  possible  if,  when  they  do  wrong,  it  occurs  to  thee  that 
they  are  kinsmen,  and  that  they  do  wrong  through  ignorance 
and  blindly,  and  that  soon  both  of  you  will  die ;  and  that  the 
wrong-doer  has  done  thee  no  real  harm."  "  Gently  admonish 
him  and  calmly  correct  his  errors,  when  he  tries  to  do  thee 
harm,  saying,  'Not  so,  my  child;  we  are  constituted  by  na- 
ture for  something  else.  I  shall  not  be  injured,  but  thou  art 
injuring  thyself.'"3  And  in  a  prayer  of  a  certain  Eusebius, 
an  early  Platonist,  we  read,  "May  I  be  no  man's  enemy, 
but  may  I  be  the  friend  of  whatever  is  eternal  and  abiding. 
May  I  never  quarrel  with  those  nearest  me;  but  if  I  do,  may 
I  be  quickly  reconciled.  May  I  never  devise  evil  against  any 
man;  if  any  devise  evil  against  me,  may  I  escape  uninjured 

1  Matt.  20:  26-29.  *  Mark  12:  28-31.   Gal.  5:  14.    1  Cor.  13: 13. 

8  Meditations,  bks.  vi,  vu,  ix. 


202  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

and  without  the  need  of  hurting  him.  May  I  wish  for  all 
men's  happiness  and  envy  none.  May  I  never  rejoice  in  the 
ill-fortune  of  one  who  has  wronged  me.  .  .  ."  1 

Certainly  no  aspect  of  religion  is  more  beautiful  or  more 
important  than  this.  As  in  the  personal  sphere  religion  lifts 
the  necessity  of  self-repression  into  a  passionate  love  of 
purity,  so  in  these  wider  relationships  its  task  is  to  exalt  the 
conception  of  duties  to  others  into  a  longing  to  love  and  for- 
give and  serve.  Religion  shifts  the  focus  of  a  man's  interests 
from  his  own  welfare  to  that  of  his  family,  his  neighbors,  his 
fellow  men;  it  so  depersonalizes  him  that  he  finds  his  aims 
and  his  joys,  not  so  much  in  his  private  fortunes  as  in  the 
fortunes  of  that  larger  whole  of  which  his  life  is  but  a  part. 
Religion  is  a  change  in  the  center  of  gravity  of  life,  a  widen- 
ing of  the  boundaries  of  self.  What  it  exists,  above  all  else, 
to  teach  us,  is  that  the  way  of  love  is  the  perfect  way  of 
life. 

And  then,  through  this  love  of  men,  whom  we  see,  we  pass 
to  the  love  of  God,  whom  in  his  fullness  we  have  not  seen. 
This  is  love  passing  beyond  its  individual  objects  to  the 
Universal  Spirit  of  Good  that  shines  through  them  all  and 
makes  them  for  us  hints  and  glimpses  of  the  Ideal,  of  that 
Perfect  Good  which  eludes  us  in  earthly  things,  but  which  we 
must  ever  love  and  follow.  Tired  of  the  transient  and  the 
changing,  torn  between  the  fleeting  and  fading  objects  of  its 
love,  the  mind  longs  for  something  stable  and  eternal.  Disil- 
lusioned in  his  idealization  of  particular  creatures,  to  what 
may  a  man  safely  pay  his  adoration?  To  nothing  but  to 
God,  the  Absolute  Good,  dwelling  in  all  loveworthy  persons 
and  beautiful  things,  but  nowhere  on  earth  perfectly  real- 
ized. Only,  indeed,  in  individual  men  and  things  can  we  find 
God  in  tangible,  visible  form;  and  to  these  particular  persons 
and  objects,  with  their  flaws  and  their  ephemeral  existence, 
1  Quoted  by  G.  Murray,  Four  Stages  of  Greek  Religion,  p.  182. 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND  PEA C  I 

our  loyalty  should  rightly  cling.  Yet  it  is  not  tL  «r- 

fections  that  call  out  our  love,  but  the  revelation  of  God  that 
we  find  in  them.  In  this  thought  the  heart  may  find  a  ■ 
comfort  and  peace.  For  though  thi^  or  that  particular  ob- 
ject vanish  and  die,  God  per-  -  ^nd  will  still  rejoice  the 
heart  that  has  learned  to  love  him  wherever  he  may  be 
found. 

Religious  peace 

The  natural  result  of  the  life  of  purity  and  love  is  peace- 
v\  nen  the  inner  discord  of  an  undisciplined  life  and  the  con- 
flict of  -  -ires  with  the  needs  of  others  are  done  ar 
with,  the  gi  ft  enemies  of  our  happiness  are  overcome. 
\  et  the  pure  and  loving  heart  is  not  always  for  that  al 
For  the  longing  for  purity  and  the  ability  to  love  bring  ■ 
their  train  new  occasions  for  suffering;  and  there  are  in  - 

x  many  natural  ills,  not  remediable,  which  come  even  to 
the  most  loyal  a  These  agonies  and  los  ks 

and  catastrophes  that  torture  the  innocent  as  - 
guilty  are  irretri  vorld;  religion  cannot  rem 

them.  What  it  can  do  is  to  help  a  man  to  bear 
him  into  a  stal      f  mind  wfaick  s  ... 

-      hat  heca:.  .  -     -  -  lath, 

where  is  thy  «tin_ 

If  religion  is  to  be  at  all  profound,  i:  ■  -    :oop  to 

meet  the  pain  and  the  m  isexyd  -  :  abide  with  th 

an-  son  -  -      -  _-    The  no  -ions- —  as, 

notably.  Buddhism  and  Christianity  —  ^ch  to 

-  -row.  and  ha-  -   -  aso*,  sometimes  "re- 

called pessimistic.    But  neither  of  thes     -      _ 

either  enc-    n  ■ 

of  life;  instead,  they  in  v  -   ss  e    ten  tha:       idea 

bs       Con:  said! 

*"  I  teach  ad  is  bo  deliverance  from  i 


204  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

miseries  of  life."  "Come  unto  me,"  said  Christ.  "Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest." 

The  secret  of  this  peace  has  been,  primarily,  the  freeing  of 
the  heart  from  worldly  desires.  The  added  vistas  of  hope 
beyond  the  grave,  and  the  Christian  conception  of  a  Father 
God  who  watches  and  loves  his  children,  have  given  great 
comfort  and  consolation.  But  a  large  share  of  the  peace  that 
they  have  brought  is  due  to  the  new  valuations  they  have 
induced;  they  have  taught  men  to  set  their  hearts,  not  upon 
what  is  transient  and  uncertain,  but  upon  what  is  sure  and 
abiding.  "Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures  upon  earth, 
where  moth  and  rust  doth  corrupt  and  where  thieves  break 
through  and  steal;  but  lay  up  for  yourselves  treasures  in 
heaven,  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  doth  corrupt  and  where 
thieves  do  not  break  through  or  steal." 

At  times  the  attempt  has  been  made  by  distracted  men  to 
take  these  precepts  with  a  thoroughgoing  literalness.  The 
deliberate  cult  of  poverty,  which  has  characterized  some 
phases  of  Christianity  as  well  as  of  other  religions,  has  the 
secret  of  its  fascination  in  the  freedom  it  gives  the  soul. 
He  who  makes  it  his  own  will  to  have  nothing  is  secure  from 
all  those  disappointments  and  worries  and  temptations  that 
hover  near  the  man  who  has  possessions  and  does  not  know 
how  to  get  along  without  them.  Poverty  —  when  relieved  of 
anxiety  for  the  means  of  subsistence  —  is,  as  a  Catholic 
writer  says,  "A  great  repose."  The  pursuit  of  poverty  is 
impracticable  in  our  modern  organization  of  society;  and  it 
has  its  great  drawbacks  at  best,  rendering  impossible  much 
that  makes  life  most  desirable.  But  it  is  possible  for  us  in 
some  measure  to  attain  the  end  those  mendicant  monks  at- 
tained; we  can,  while  owning  things  to  a  reasonable  extent, 
and  enjoying  fully  whatever  pleasures  come  our  way,  remain 
inwardly  above  their  power,  not  counting  upon  them,  not 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND  PEACE  205 

basing  our  happiness  upon  them,  and  so  not  becoming  miser- 
able if  they  are  taken  away. 

This  unworldliness  may  easily  lead,  however,  to  a  damp- 
ening of  human  energies  and  a  paralysis  of  practical  activity. 
The  power  to  rise  above  ordinary  troubles  may  lead  to  a 
neglect  of  available  means  for  averting  or  curing  them;  the 
ability  to  endure  our  own  ills  may  become  a  disinclination  to 
bestir  ourselves  to  lessen  the  ills  of  others.  This  has  been,  in 
fact,  one  of  the  insidious  dangers  of  the  religious  life. 

"On  the  terraced  walk  aloof 
Leans  a  monk  with  folded  hands, 
Placid,  satisfied,  serene, 
Looking  down  upon  the  scene, 
Over  wall  and  red-tiled  roof; 
Wondering  unto  what  good  end 
All  this  toil  and  traffic  tend, 
And  why  all  men  cannot  be 
Free  from  care  and  free  from  pain, 
And  the  sordid  love  of  gain, 
And  as  indolent  as  he."  l 

For  such  a  man  religion  has  become  a  mere  personal  luxury, 
not  a  stimulus  and  driving  power;  it  has  degenerated  into  a 
cowardly  escape  from  the  problems  of  humanity  instead  of 
being  a  force  for  their  solution  —  a  retreat  from  life  instead 
of  its  transformation. 

There  is  a  better  way  to  peace  than  this :  namely,  not  by 
ceasing  to  care  for  worldly  matters,  but  by  caring  more  for 
spiritual  matters;  the  way  of  self-forgetfulness  by  self- 
surrender  to  something  greater  than  our  private  fortune  and 
worthy  of  our  entire  devotion.  Indifference  to  our  personal 
welfare  is  an  impoverishment  of  life  unless  we  put  in  place  of 
that  primary  interest  some  deeper  purpose,  something  noble 
to  live  for,  to  give  meaning  and  worth  to  life.  To  become 
concerned,  not  with  what  we  are  to  get  out  of  life,  but  with 
what  we  can  put  in,  to  let  ourselves  become  mere  instru- 

1  Longfellow,  Amalfi. 


206  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

merits,  to  merge  our  wills  with  the  will  of  God,  is  to  learn  the 
secret  that  Dante  teaches  in  his  great  line,  — 

"In  la  sua  voluntade  e  nostra  pace." 

Nothing  can  take  from  us  the  joy  of  doing  our  part  well, 
however  humble  a  part  it  be,  of  belonging  to  the  great  army 
of  those  who  are  battling  for  the  welfare  of  man  against  his 
ancient  enemies,  pain  and  ignorance  and  sin.  For  no  matter 
how  little  we  may  be  able  personally  to  do,  our  cause  is  ad- 
vancing, its  triumphs  are  ours;  every  stroke  made  for  the 
right,  every  act  of  love  or  of  heroism  the  world  over  adds  to 
our  rejoicing.  Slowly  but  steadily  our  cause  is  advancing;  if 
we  can  learn  to  care  supremely  for  its  triumphs  and  to  con- 
secrate to  its  service  what  strength  we  have  of  heart  and 
hand,  we  too  may  find  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding. 
"Let  it  make  no  difference  to  thee,"  says  Marcus  Aurelius, 
"whether  thou  art  cold  or  warm,  if  thou  art  doing  thy  duty; 
and  whether  thou  art  drowsy  or  satisfied  with  sleep;  and 
whether  ill-spoken  of  or  praised;  and  whether  dying  or  doing 
something  else."  "Let  our  lives  be  kindness  and  our  conduct 
righteousness,"  says  Buddha;  "then  in  the  fullness  of  glad- 
ness shall  we  make  an  end  of  grief."  But  it  must  not  be  a 
mere  modicum  of  kindness  and  righteousness,  it  must  be  an 
utter  self-forgetfulness  in  them;  it  must  be  that  veritable 
losing  of  our  lives  through  which,  as  Jesus  taught,  we  shall 
most  truly  find  them. 

Mysticism  and  Christian  Science. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  mention  two  phases  of  the  reli- 
gious life  which  have  in  a  peculiar  degree  brought  peace  to 
the  human  heart.  The  one  consists  in  cultivating  an  emo- 
tional sense  of  the  wonder  and  joy  of  life,  ranging  from  a 
passing  mood  to  a  prolonged  trance-like  state  or  an  almost 
continuous  exaltation  of  spirit.  This  cultivation  of  the  bea- 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE   AND   PEACE  207 

tific  vision  is  best  known  as  "mysticism."  The  other  phase 
consists  in  an  obstinate  refusal  to  admit  the  existence  of  evil 
or  to  respond  to  it  with  the  usual  reactions  —  fear,  grief, 
disappointment,  regret.  Practiced  in  many  forms,  as  a  part 
of  many  faiths,  it  is  best  known  to  us  under  its  contemporary 
name  of  "Christian  Science."  We  shall  not  now  concern 
ourselves  with  the  implications  of  these  experiences  for  our 
knowledge  of  the  world;  whatever  inferential  value  they 
possess  must  await  discussion  at  a  later  point  in  our  study.1 
But  just  as  experiences,  worth  repeating  in  our  own  lives 
as  a  means  of  heightening  their  intrinsic  value,  we  may  here 
briefly  consider  them. 

Mysticism  is  many  centuries  old.  A  careful  training  in  the 
attainment  of  its  illumination  was  practiced  in  Brahmanic 
India,  under  the  name  of  "Yoga";  attention  was  paid  to 
such  physical  details  as  diet,  posture,  breathing,  concentra- 
tion of  mind,  as  well  as  to  an  antecedent  moral  discipline.2 
Catholic  manuals  teach  the  art;  it  is  known  in  Mohammedan 
Persia;  no  religion  or  creed  has  a  monopoly  of  it.  Its  extreme 
forms,  which  are  a  sort  of  self-hypnotization  and  actual 
trance,  are  open,  no  doubt,  only  to  certain  temperaments; 
but  in  some  degree  all,  of  whatever  faith,  can  attain,  at  least 
at  moments,  to  its  blessed  assurance  and  bliss.3 

1  See  pp.  328-30. 

2  Cf.  "The  bliss  of  Brahman!  Speech  and  mind  fall  hack  baffled  and 
ashamed;  all  fear  vanishes  in  the  knowing  of  that  bliss."  See  S.  Abhe- 
dananda,  How  to  be  a  Yogi. 

3  No  two  writers  agree  in  their  definitions  of  mysticism.  Inge  speaks  of 
it  as  "an  attempt  to  realize  the  presence  of  the  living  God  in  the  soul  and 
in  nature.  .  .  .  Complete  union  with  God "  (p.  5).  Cuttensays:  "Mysticism 
is  subjective  religion.  It  is  religion  seeking  to  emancipate  itself  from  the 
tyranny  of  external  media.  It  is  religion  bringing  the  soul  into  the  immedi- 
ate presence  of  God"  (p.  24).  William  James  (whose  discussion  in  lectures 
xvi-xvn  of  his  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience  remains  the  most  illuminat- 
ing presentation  of  the  subject)  declares  that  mystical  experiences  are 
"states  of  consciousness  of  an  entirely  specific  quality";  "a  deepened  sense 
of  the  significance"  of  things;  "incommunicable  transports";  "the  over- 


208  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

Space  is  lacking  here  for  a  discussion  of  the  best  means  of 
attaining  to  these  moments  of  insight  into  the  wonder  and 
beauty  of  life.1  Our  lives  are,  in  any  case,  too  rushed,  too 
full  of  practical  duties,  to  allow  us  to  undergo  the  elaborate 
training  of  the  adepts  in  mysticism;  the  best  most  of  us  can 
hope  is,  in  moments  now  and  then,  under  the  spell  of  some 
glorious  sunset,  some  peculiarly  lovely  landscape,  or  a  strain 
of  exquisite  music,  when  in  love,  or  when  deeply  moved  by  a 
book,  a  sermon,  a  play,  or  some  great  experience,  to  draw 
this  deeper  breath,  get  this  deeper  vision.  We  may  catch  it 
from  some  poet  —  from  Wordsworth,  when  he  speaks  of 

"That  serene  and  blessed  mood 
In  which  .  .  . 

.  .  .  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things." 

Or  from  Amiel,  when  he  writes  of  those  "moments  divine, 
ecstatic  hours,  in  which  our  thought  flies  from  world  to 
world,  pierces  the  great  enigma,  breathes  with  a  respiration 
broad,  tranquil,  and  deep  as  the  respiration  of  the  ocean, 
serene  and  limitless  as  the  blue  firmament,  .  .  .  instants  of 
irresistible  intuition,  in  which  one  feels  one's  self  great  as  the 
Universe,  and  calm  as  a  god."  Or  from  Emerson,  when  he 
says,  "Crossing  a  bare  common,  in  snow-puddles,  at  twi- 
light, under  a  clouded  sky,  without  having  in  my  thoughts 

coming  of  all  the  usual  barriers  between  the  individual  and  the  Absolute"; 
a  "feeling  of  enlargement,  union,  and  emancipation";  a  "sense  of  ineffable 
importance  in  the  smallest  events";  "excitements  like  the  emotions  of  love 
or  ambition,  gifts  to  our  spirit  by  means  of  which  facts  already  objectively 
before  us  fall  into  a  new  expressiveness  and  make  a  new  connection  with  our 
active  life."  A  recent  definition  is  this  of  G.  P.  Adams  (in  Harvard  Theo- 
logical Revieio,  vol.  4,  p.  236):  "A  profound  discontent  with  the  obvious,  a 
search  for  those  more  remote  meanings  which  overflow  the  barriers  of  the 
common  presuppositions  and  discourse  of  men." 

1  For  a  chatty  discussion  of  some  of  the  avenues  thereto,  see  O.  Kuhns, 
The  Scn.ie  of  the  Infinite.     See  also  Atlantic  Monthly,  vol.  117,  p.  590. 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE  AND   PEACE  209 

any  occurrence  of  special  good  fortune,  I  have  enjoyed  a 
perfect  exhilaration.  I  am  glad  to  the  brink  of  fear."  Or 
from  Richard  Jefferies,  when  he  writes,  "With  all  the  inten- 
sity of  feeling  which  exalted  me,  all  the  intense  communion 
I  held  with  the  earth,  the  sun  and  sky,  the  stars  hidden  by 
the  light,  with  the  ocean  —  in  no  manner  can  the  thrilling 
depth  of  these  feelings  be  written  —  with  these  I  prayed,  as 
if  they  were  the  keys  of  an  instrument,  of  an  organ,  with 
which  I  swelled  forth  the  notes  of  my  soul,  redoubling  my 
own  voice  by  their  power.  The  great  sun  burning  with  light; 
the  strong  earth,  dear  earth;  the  warm  sky;  the  pure  air;  the 
thought  of  ocean;  the  inexpressible  beauty  of  all  filled  me 
with  a  rapture,  an  ecstasy,  an  inflatus."  l 

But  besides  cultivating  these  ecstasies,  this  ravishing 
sense  of  the  worth  and  glory  of  life,  we  may  set  to  work  to 
blind  ourselves  to  its  defects.  The  Stoics  developed  this 
possibility  in  antiquity,  sometimes  half-unconsciously,  and 
again  with  a  sophisticated  comprehension  of  the  psychology 
involved.  Marcus  Aurelius,  for  example,  realizes  that  the 
process  is  subjective.  "Take  away  thy  opinion,"  he  says, 
"and  there  is  taken  away  the  complaint.  Take  away  the 
complaint,  and  the  harm  is  taken  away.  If  thou  art  pained 
by  any  external  thing,  it  is  not  this  thing  that  disturbs  thee, 
but  thine  own  judgment  about  it;  and  it  is  in  thy  power  to 
wipe  out  this  judgment  now."  2  Just  such  a  persistent  op- 
timism, that  refuses  to  label  anything  trouble  and  smiles  at 
whatever  befalls,  has  been  taught,  far  more  blindly,  but  with 
great  practical  effectiveness,  in  our  contemporary  world  by 
Christian  Science. 

1  His  Story  of  My  Heart  is  full  of  such  rhapsodical  expressions  of  his 
mystical  moods. 

2  Most  of  his  utterances,  however,  are  less  sophisticated.  Cf.,  e.g.,  "But 
life  or  death,  honor  or  dishonor,  pain  or  pleasure  ...  are  neither  good  nor 
evil.  .  .  .  Nothing  is  evil  which  is  according  to  nature." 


210  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

There  is  much  in  Mrs.  Eddy's  book  and  in  the  contempo- 
rary teaching  of  the  sect  that  does  not  commend  itself  to  the 
enlightened.  As  in  the  case  of  most  religions,  what  is  untrue 
and  what  is  barren  is  reverenced  and  retained  through  its  asso- 
ciation with  a  great  and  needed  truth.  But  if  we  are  to  reject 
a  faith  because  its  founders  mingled  with  it  much  that  is  irra- 
tional, which  religion  can  retain  our  allegiance!  There  are, 
indeed,  practical  dangers  connected  with  Christian  Science 
—  the  danger  of  neglecting  the  resources  of  modern  medicine 
and  surgery,  together  with  the  proved  advantages  of  disin- 
fection, quarantine,  and  hygiene  in  general;  the  danger, 
potential  in  every  highly  centralized  organization,  of  domi- 
nating the  minds  of  multitudes  and  using  its  power  and 
money  for  harmful  ends;  the  danger  of  opposing  scientific 
education  and  keeping  the  minds  of  its  followers  on  an  irra- 
tional level.  That  Christian  Science  is  not  scientific  needs 
no  argument;  and  in  what  material  or  mental  ways  that 
Church  may  harm  the  life  of  the  community  is  yet  to  be  seen. 
But  surely  the  physical  and  spiritual  good  that  it  has  done 
far  outweighs  any  present  evil. 

We  must  recognize  that  when  Mrs.  Eddy's  disciples  say 
that  pain  and  evil  are  "unreal,"  they  are  using  the  word  in 
the  Platonic  sense;  "real"  is  to  them  a  eulogistic  word  —  as 
it  has  been,  and  is,  for  so  many  philosophers  —  meaning 
what  belongs  to  the  spiritual  or  ideal  order.  Whatever  does 
not  belong  to  this  order  has  a  less  worthy  kind  of  existence, 
and  is  to  be  counted  out.  Plato  called  it  Mr)  6v  —  "non- 
existent "  —  or,  perhaps  we  should  translate  it , "  not  to  exist " ; 
Mrs.  Eddy  calls  it  "error."  The  words  matter  little;  the 
practical  point  is,  these  evils  must  not  exist  for  us,  must  not 
find  a  place  in  our  world.  Just  as  when  we  adopt  any  ideal 
we  cease  to  compute  and  calculate,  but  throw  ourselves 
whole-heartedly  upon  that  side,  so  in  our  emotional  reaction 
upon  life  we  are  to  have  eyes  only  for  the  good  and  refuse  to 


RELIGIOUS  LOVE   AND   PEACE  211 

see  anything  else.  It  is  treating  the  world  that  is  our  home 
as  we  ought  to  treat  our  wives  and  mothers  and  dearest 
friends;  it  is  our  world,  we  love  it  and  are  loyal  to  it,  for 
us  it  shall  have  no  faults. 

No  doubt  for  the  Christian  Scientist  himself  our  apprecia- 
tion of  his  faith  would  seem  inadequate;  for  him  it  is  not  an 
attitude,  it  is  a  recognition  of  what  is  objectively  so.  But, 
leaving  this  point  for  the  present,1  we  may  at  least  agree  that 
Stoic  and  Christian  Scientist  and  the  other  thoroughgoing 
eulogists  of  the  world  attain  to  an  inward  peace  that  marks 
out  their  faith  as  having  in  it  something  of  great  human 
worth.  It  is  possible  in  far  greater  degree  than  most  of  us 
realize  to  banish  fear  and  grief  from  our  lives  and  attain  to 
an  invulnerable  peace.  The  early  Christians  attained  to  it  — 
cf.  Justin  Martyr's,  "You  can  kill  us,  but  you  cannot  hurt 
us!"  2  The  early  Buddhists  attained  to  it  —  "Enter  on  this 
path  and  make  an  end  of  sorrow;  verily  the  path  has  been 
preached  by  me,  who  have  found  out  how  to  quench  the 
darts  of  grief.  ...  He  who  overcomes  this  contemptible 
thirst  [the  desire  for  the  good  things  of  life  and  rebellious- 
ness at  ill  fortune],  .  .  .  sufferings  fall  off  from  him  like 
water-drops  from  a  lotus  leaf." 3  In  recent  years  it  has  been 
attained  in  marked  degree  by  Bahaists,4  by  some  of  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  "New  Thought," 5  as  well  as  by  many  humble 
Christians  of  all  sects,  and  by  one  here  and  there  who  has 

1  For  further  discussion  of  Christian  Science,  see  pp.  182-83  and  325-26. 
And  cf.  S.  L.  Clemens,  Christian  Science;  L.  P.  Powell,  Christian  Science; 
J.  H.  Leuba,  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  pp.  301-07;  J.  V.  Morgan, 
ed.,  Theology  at  the  Dawn  of  the  Twentieth  Century,  pp.  369-401;  G.  B. 
Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity,  chap,  xvi;  W.  Riley, 
American   Thought,  pp.  -13-53. 

2  For  illustrations  of  the  inward  peace  of  the  early  Christians,  see  Edge- 
hill,  The  Spirit  of  Power,  chap.  vi. 

3  Dhammapada,  vss.  275,  336. 

*  See,  e.g.,  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  7,  p.  339. 

*  See,  e.g.,  Horace  Fletcher's  Forethought  minus  Fearthought,  or  R.  W. 
Trine's  What  all  the  World 's  A-Seeking;  In  Tune  with  the  Infinite. 


212  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

found  the  way  for  himself. l  But  Christian  Science  deserves 
praise  for  doing  more  than  any  other  contemporary  force  to 
turn  human  lives  to  the  sunlight  and  banish  the  shadows 
from  their  hearts.  The  therapeutic  value  of  this  sunnier 
attitude  is  great.  But  Christian  Science  is  more  than  a 
method  of  bodily  healing,  it  is  a  way  of  bringing  inward 
unity  and  peace  into  distracted  and  restless  human  nature. 
Its  insight  must  be  incorporated  into  the  catholic  and  inclu- 
sive Christianity  of  the  future. 

Charity,  Piety,  Service:  A.  Harnack,  Mission  and  Expansion  of 
Christianity,  bk.  n,  chap.  in.  F.  J.  Peabody,  Jesus  Christ  and  the 
Christian  Character,  chaps,  iv-vi;  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Social  Ques- 
tion. H.  Drummond,  Greatest  Thing  in  the  World  (in  Essays).  Har- 
nack and  Herrmann,  The  Social  Gospel.  J.  H.  Newman,  Love,  The 
One  Thing  Needful  (in  Parochial  and  Plain  Sermons).  J.  Royce, 
Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  i,  pp.  74-105.  E.  A.  Edghill,  The 
Spirit  of  Power,  chap.  vn. 

Religious  Joy  and  Peace:  J.  H.  Newman,  Religious  Joy,  Religion 
Pleasant  to  the  Religious  (in  Parochial  and  Plain  Sermons).  G.  M. 
Stratton,  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life,  pt.  I.  G.  B.  Cutten, 
Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity,  chaps  iii-iv.  G.  K.  Ches- 
terton. Heretics,  chap,  xvi;  Orthodoxy,  chap.  v.  W.  James,  Varieties 
of  Religious  Experience,  chaps,  xvi-xvn.  E.  Underbill,  The  Mystic 
Way;  Mysticism.  W.  R.  Inge,  Christian  Mysticism.  W.  M.  Scott, 
Aspects  of  Christian  Mysticism.  O.  Kuhns,  Sense  of  the  Infinite. 

1  Cf.  Emerson,  History,  in  Essays,  vol.  i,  "To  the  poet,  to  the  philos- 
opher, to  the  saint,  all  things  are  friendly  and  sacred,  all  events  profitable, 
all  days  holy,  all  men  divine." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION 

How  shall  we  determine  the  essence  of  religion? 

With  this  hasty  outline  of  the  salient  phenomena  of 
religion,  historical  and  psychological,  before  us,  we  may  ap- 
proach the  question,  What  is  the  essence  of  religion,  and  how 
shall  we  define  it? 

We  must  at  the  outset  realize  the  impossibility  of  framing 
a  definition  of  religion  that  shall  cover  all  of  its  historic  as- 
pects. There  lie  here  before  our  eyes  a  confused  and  ever- 
changing  mass  of  emotions,  beliefs,  rites,  and  acts;  there  is  no 
common  factor  that  runs  through  them  all,  no  one  thing  that 
all  phases  of  religion  have  had  in  common  that  is  not  also  to 
be  found  in  other  spheres  of  human  activity.  The  religions 
are  bound  together  by  a  historic  development;  but  our  con- 
temporary civilized  religion  is  as  different  from  the  religion 
of  some  barbarous  tribe  as  it  is  from  our  own  aesthetic  life 
or  our  patriotism.  For  the  matter  of  that,  religion  is  apt  to 
be  so  bound  up  with  morality,  with  superstition,  art,  politics, 
all  the  other  phases  of  man's  life,  that  it  is  exceedingly  diffi- 
cult to  sift  out  the  elements  to  which  its  name  should  be 
given.  This  is  particularly  true,  of  course,  of  primitive  life, 
where  the  differentiation  of  activities  has  not  progressed 
far;  l  but  even  in  our  modern  life  other  emotions  and  activi- 
ties so  interpenetrate  and  blend  here  and  there  with  religion 
that  it  is  a  perplexing  problem  to  draw  boundaries  and  mark 
out  its  distinctive  field.  To  attempt,  then,  to  make  our  defi- 

1  Cf.  F.  de  Coulanges,  The  Ancient  City:  "Law,  government,  and  religion 
in  Rome  were  three  confused  aspects  of  one  thing."  See,  for  an  elaboration 
of  this  thought,  Shotwell,  chap.  I. 


214  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

nition  inclusive  would  be,  not  only  to  make  it  so  long  and 
cumbersome  as  to  be  practically  useless,  but  to  include  ele- 
ments which  are  not  present  in  all  religions,  and  elements 
which  religion  shares  with  other  human  interests. 

It  is  easy  enough  to  point  out,  in  the  case  of  any  of  the 
familiar  definitions  of  religion,  that  the  formula,  on  the  one 
hand,  omits  much  that  is  conspicuous  in  historic  faiths,  or, 
on  the  other  hand,  covers  acts  or  attitudes  not  usually 
thought  of  as  religious.  If,  for  example,  we  define  religion, 
with  Mr.  Fielding  Hall,  as  "the  recognition  and  cultivation 
of  all  our  highest  emotions,"  1  we  seem  to  include  in  it  love, 
patriotism,  appreciation  of  beauty,  and  the  rest.  If  we  define 
it,  with  Reinach,  as  "  a  sum  of  scruples,"  2  we  seem  to  include 
all  of  our  morality,  customary  and  individual.  If  we  define 
it,  with  Menzies,  as  "the  worship  of  higher  powers,"  3  we 
seem  to  include  a  mass  of  barbarous  superstitions  and 
empty  observances  which  had  no  value  that  we  should  usu- 
ally call  religious.  And  no  one  of  these,  or  of  the  thousands 
of  other  definitions  that  have  been  proposed,  connotes  all  of 
the  aspects  that  have  in  this  religion  or  that  been  most 
strikingly  prominent. 

The  search  for  a  common  factor  tends,  moreover,  to  em- 
phasize what  is  trivial  rather  than  what  is  vital.  Not  by  its 
early  and  crude  forms,  not  by  its  sodden  and  uninspired 
devotees,  is  religion  to  be  judged,  but  by  what  it  becomes  in 
the  lives  of  the  prophets  and  saints.  No  one  who  has  known 
the  loyalty  and  peace  of  a  deeply  religious  life  can  be  content 
to  think  of  religion  as  an  emotional  debauch,  or  as  a  set  of 
scruples,  or,  with  Herbert  Spencer,  as  a  sense  of  the  ultimate 
inscrutableness  of  the  universe.  Mystery  and  emotion  may 
be,  as  Professor  Shotwell  says,  "constant  elements";  they 
may  be  the  connecting  links  between  the  primitive  welter  of 

1  The  Hearts  of  Men,  p.  298.  *  Orpheus,  p.  2. 

3  History  of  Religions,  p.  7. 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  215 

superstition  and  a  religion  worthy  of  the  name.  But  a  sense 
of  mystery,  or  emotional  thrills,  are  not,  of  themselves,  im- 
portant enough;  they  give  no  hint  of  the  vital  nature  of 
mature  religion  and  its  value  for  life.  Religion  is  a  growing 
and  changing  thing;  as  we  think  of  an  oak  not  in  terms  of 
what  it  has  in  common  with  the  acorn,  and  man  not  in 
terms  of  what  he  has  in  common  with  his  ape-like  ancestor, 
so  we  may  think  of  religion  not  in  terms  of  what  it  was  at  this 
or  that  stage,  but  in  terms  of  what  it  has  become  and  bids 
fair  to  become  in  its  ripest  development. 

In  fine,  the  only  purpose  of  offering  a  definition  of  religion 
is  to  pick  out  from  this  ever-changing  and  infinitely  various 
segment  of  human  experience  what  seems  most  important 
and  destined  to  be  permanent.  Our  definition  will  be  a  value- 
judgment,  representing  what  we  deem  fit  to  honor  with  the 
eulogistic  term  "  religion,"  what  we  consider  essential,  amid 
all  these  many-colored  experiences,  for  the  best  human  life, 
a  norm  by  which  to  measure  a  religion's  worth.  Such  a  mat- 
ter is  not  to  be  decided  by  a  priori  desire  or  personal  preju- 
dice; our  decision  must  be  based  upon  a  deep  knowledge  of 
the  world  we  live  in  and  the  needs  and  conditions  of  man's 
success  therein;  upon  a  sympathetic  acquaintance  with  the 
manifold  activities  to  which  the  name  has  been  applied,  an 
insight  into  human  nature,  and  a  trained  ability  to  distin- 
guish truth  from  error.  What  we  shall  call  the  heart  of  reli- 
gion, and  what  its  accretions  and  unessential  concomitants, 
must  depend  upon  what  a  wide  experience  teaches  us  to  be 
needful  and  what  a  mature  criticism  shows  us  to  be  true. 

What  is  the  relation  of  religion  to  theology? 

One  of  the  commonest  misconceptions  is  that  which  thinks 
of  religion  as  consisting  primarily  of  beliefs  —  beliefs,  in 
particular,  about  gods,  saviors,  a  future  life,  or  some  sort  of 
supernatural  world  enveloping  our  human  experience.  Such 


216  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

beliefs  may  have  immense  power  to  comfort  and  inspire;  and 
it  is  in  the  midst  of  them,  as  its  matrix  and  background,  that 
the  religious  life  has,  historically,  come  into  being.  But  shall 
we  deny  the  name  "religion"  to  a  life  that  is,  in  spirit  and 
fruits,  the  same,  when  such  beliefs  are  not  present?  And  at 
what  point  among  these  infinitely  varying  beliefs  shall  we 
draw  the  line  between  religion  and  superstition,  or  between 
religion  and  philosophy?  Primitive  men,  and  uncultivated 
men  still,  are  full  of  supernatural  beliefs  that  have  no  reli- 
gious value  whatsoever.  Philosophers  of  every  stripe  have 
elaborated  their  convictions  upon  such  matters  with  no 
appreciable  influence  upon  their  lives.  Many  a  man  to-day 
believes  unquestioningly  in  God,  attends  church  regularly, 
or  fulfills  whatever  observances  he  supposes  to  be  required  of 
him,  who  is  no  more  religious  than  a  courtier  who  pampers 
his  sovereign's  desires.  On  the  other  hand,  we  have  one  of 
the  greatest  of  the  world's  religions,  Buddhism,  with  (in  its 
original  purity)  no  God  and  no  immortal  hope.  And  many 
an  agnostic  among  us,  with  no  belief  in  God  or  a  supernatu- 
ral Christ,  and  no  expectation  of  heaven,  has  a  truly  reli- 
gious temper  and  lives  a  truly  religious  life.1 

1  Cf.  Dickinson,  op.  cit.,  p.  57,  52:  "Religion  is  an  attitude  of  the  imag- 
ination and  the  will,  not  of  the  intellect;  ...  It  is  possible,  it  is  common,  to 
believe  in  God  without  having  religion;  it  is  less  common,  but  it  is  not  less 
possible,  to  have  religion  without  believing  in  God.  ...  It  is  not,  in  a  word, 
the  doctrine  that  makes  religion,  it  is  the  spirit;  and  the  spirit  may  inspire 
the  most  diverse  and  contradictory  doctrines." 

And  Cf.  James  Martineau,  The  Godly  Man  (in  Hours  of  Thought):  "If  I 
see  a  man  living  out  of  an  inner  spring  of  inflexible  right  and  pliant  piety; 
if  he  refuses  the  colour  of  the  low  world  around  him;  if  his  eye  flashes  with 
scorn  at  mean  and  impure  things  which  are  a  jest  to  others;  if  high  examples 
of  honour  and  self-sacrifice  bring  the  flush  of  sympathy  upon  his  cheek;  if 
in  his  sphere  of  rule  he  plainly  obeys  a  trust  instead  of  enforcing  an  arbi- 
trary will,  and  in  his  sphere  of  service  takes  his  yoke  without  a  groan,  and 
does  his  work  with  thought  only  that  it  be  good;  I  shall  not  pry  into  his 
closet  nor  ask  about  his  creed,  but  own  him  at  once  as  the  godly  man. 
Godliness  is  the  persistent  living  out  an  ideal  preconception  of  the  Right, 
the  Beautiful,  the  Good." 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  217 

It  may,  indeed,  be  said  of  such  religions  as  ignore  or  reject 
the  concept  of  God  that  they  have  a  God  under  another 
name.  Buddhism  has  practically  made  a  God  of  Buddha,  as 
popular  Christianity  has  of  Christ.  Richard  Jefferies,  who 
(in  his  passionately  religious  Story  of  My  Heart)  indignantly 
scorns  the  belief  in  God,  speaks  constantly  of  a  "  something 
higher  than  Deity."  It  is  obviously  a  matter  of  nomencla- 
ture —  most  men  in  his  case  would  speak  simply  of  a  "  higher 
conception  of  God."  Emerson  with  his  Oversoul,  Comte 
with  his  idealized  Humanity,  and  many  an  avowed  atheist 
who  serves  an  abstract  Ideal,  have  a  God  as  truly  as  the 
naive  Christian  who  pictures  an  anthropomorphic  Being  in 
the  skies.  Something  supreme  there  must  be  in  a  religion, 
something  to  love,  reverence,  and  worship,  something  that 
awakens  man's  loyalty  and  wins  his  allegiance  away  from  his 
petty  affairs.  But  the  intensity  of  the  religious  spirit,  and  its 
worth  in  a  life,  have  little  relation  to  the  particular  concept  of 
God  about  which  it  is  entwined. 

May  we  not  agree,  then,  to  give  the  name  "superstition" 
to  these  supernatural  beliefs  when  they  remain  the  crude 
reflection  of  blind  hopes  and  fears;  to  call  them  philosophical 
or  theological  beliefs  when  they  have  been  worked  upon  by 
the  intellect,  lifted  above  the  level  of  folklore,  and  formu- 
lated into  legitimate  theories;  and  to  call  them  religious  only 
when  they  have  come  to  have  a  moral  meaning,  giving  out- 
ward and  cosmic  sanction  to  an  inward  and  natural  ideal? 
Religion  has  too  long  been  defined  as  a  set  of  beliefs,  with  its 
spiritual,  its  ideal  aspects  treated  as  a  mere  corollary  or 
addendum.  The  study  of  comparative  religion  has  been  too 
largely  a  tabulation  of  the  various  gods  and  their  character- 
istics, just  as  secular  history  has  until  lately  been  little  more 
than  a  list  of  kings  and  their  doings.  The  religion  itself,  that 
swayed  the  hearts  of  men  and  glorified  their  lives,  lies  buried 
under  all  these  strange  names  and  grotesque  legends.   But 


218  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

really  it  would  matter  little  whether  men  called  their  god 
Isis  or  Bel  or  Brahma  or  Zeus  or  Jupiter  or  Jehovah;  these 
differing  names  have  all  meant  their  acknowledgment  of  a 
higher  supremacy  over  their  animal  instincts  and  selfish  pas- 
sions; and  what  is  important  is  not  their  beliefs  but  their 
behavior.  Back  of  all  the  superstitions  and  dogmatisms, 
beneath  the  artificial  creeds  and  the  rites  that  are  so  often 
strange  to  our  thought,  the  seeing  eye  can  discern  passionate 
aspirations,  loyalties,  and  ideals  that  roused  men  from  their 
spiritual  torpor,  steadied  their  flickering  impulses,  and  made 
their  passions  flexible  to  their  will. 

"  Which  has  not  taught  weak  wills  how  much  they  can? 
Which  has  not  fall'n  on  the  dry  heart  like  rain? 
Which  has  not  cried  to  sunk,  self-weary  man, 
Thou  must  be  born  again!"  1 

Every  religion,  even  the  humblest,  has  had  something  of 
this  noble  and  uplifting  power.  From  the  outside  each  seems 
a  pathetic  medley  of  superstition;  but  within  men's  hearts 
each  has  been  in  some  measure  a  bulwark  against  sin,  an 
appeal  to  the  finer  instincts,  a  call  to  a  better  life.  All  the 
great  religious  founders  and  reformers  —  Zoroaster,  Buddha, 
Confucius,  the  Hebrew  Prophets,  Christ,  St.  Francis,  Luther, 
and  the  rest  —  were,  above  all,  teachers  and  exponents  of  a 
higher  and  purer  way  of  life.  Religion  is  —  the  spirit  that 
flamed  in  these  men;  their  cosmological  views  were  but  the 
crust  that  enveloped  it,  the  concepts  through  which  they 
gave  it  expression.  Beliefs  change  and  vanish,  theologies 
wax  and  wane,  but  the  life  of  charity,  consecration,  and 
peace  remains.  Not  opinions  and  not  observances  are  im- 
portant in  the  end,  but  purity  and  honor,  tenderness,  and 
sympathy,  and  love.  The  devotion  to  these  ideals  has  gone 
hand  in  hand  with  every  sort  of  theological  belief,  has  crys- 
tallized into  a  personal  devotion  to  this  or  that  saint  or 
1  Matthew  Arnold,  Progress. 


THE   ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  219 

seer,  has  lifted  many  a  crude  and  fantastic  world-conception 
into  the  dignity  of  a  religion.1 

Theology  is  man's  stumbling  and  blundering  attempt  to 
express  and  explain  this  religious  life.  Each  people,  in  its 
own  language  and  its  own  way,  has  made  the  attempt;  the 
resulting  theories  have  naturally  been  full  of  naivete  and 
error;  and  even  when  they  have  satisfied  men's  minds  for  an 
epoch,  they  have  proved  sadly  out  of  accord  with  the  men- 
tal dialect  of  a  later  day.  "  Theology  takes  the  facts  of  the 
religious  experience  and  codifies  and  relates  them,  puts  them 
in  logical  order,  gives  labels  to  them,  explains  their  infer- 
ences, and  fits  this  portion  of  our  experience  into  the  whole 
of  our  lives,  sets  these  facts  in  their  right  perspective  and 
place  in  any  given  view  of  the  world.  Theology  has  the  same 
relation  to  religion  that  botany  has  to  flowers  or  that  physics 
and  chemistry  have  to  the  material  universe.  .  .  .  Theology 
is  a  philosophy,  religion  the  life  which  furnishes  the  material 
for  that  philosophy.  .  .  .  Down  through  two  thousand  years 
men  have  been  working  at  the  indubitable  and  transforming 
facts  of  the  Christian  experience.  They  have  tried  to  state 
those  facts  in  the  language  of  their  own  generation.  They 
have  spoken  of  them,  from  the  point  of  view  of  their  own 
day.  They  have  related  them  to  the  view  of  the  world  of 
their  time.  .  .  .  And  meanwhile,  men's  views  of  the  world 
have  been  changing.  .  .  .  And  so  you  will  find  it  true  of 

1  Cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  p.  505:  "When  we  survey  the  whole  field  of  re- 
ligion, we  find  a  great  variety  in  the  thoughts  that  have  prevailed  there; 
but  the  feelings  on  the  one  hand  and  the  conduct  on  the  other  are  almost 
always  the  same;  for  Stoic,  Christian,  and  Buddhist  saints  are  practically 
indistinguishable  in  their  lives.  The  theories  which  religion  generates,  be- 
ing thus  variable,  are  secondary;  and  if  you  wish  to  grasp  her  essence,  you 
must  look  to  the  feelings  and  the  conduct  as  being  the  more  constant 
elements." 

And  cf.  Emerson,  Sovereignty  of  Ethics  (in  Lectures  and  Biographies),  "If 
theology  shows  that  opinions  are  fast  changing,  it  is  not  so  with  the  con- 
victions of  men  with  regard  to  conduct;  these  remain." 


220  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

much  of  your  inherited  science  of  religion,  that  it  will  need 
large  modifications  and  restatements.  .  .  .  But  do  not  let 
this  readjustment  of  your  intellectual  apprehension  of  re- 
ligious truth  dim  the  sense  of  the  reality  of  that  experience 
to  which  all  this  science  is  but  the  witness  and  of  which  it  is 
but  the  expression."  l 

Defining  religion  in  terms  of  life  rather  than  in  terms  of 
belief  makes  it  not  only  a  much  more  vital  matter  and  a  far 
more  universal  possession,  but  puts  the  attainment  of  a  true 
religion  within  the  reach  of  humanity.  What  the  actual 
facts  were  concerning  the  creation  of  the  world,  or  the  life 
and  resurrection  of  Christ,  what  the  truth  is  concerning  the 
nature  of  our  personalities  and  their  future  fate,  the  nature 
of  God  and  the  destiny  of  the  universe,  it  is  not  within  our 
present  resources  really  to  know.  We  may  construct  more  or 
less  probable  theories,  and  stake  our  lives  upon  this  or  that 
hope.  But  if  religion  consisted  essentially  of  dogmas  of  this 
sort,  the  intellectually  scrupulous  would  be  obliged  to  admit 
it  to  be  merely  a  set  of  conjectures  or  hypotheses.  And  a 
realization  of  the  infinitely  varied  beliefs  which  men  have 
actually  held  on  these  matters  would  lead  the  cultivated  and 
sympathetic  spectator  more  and  more  to  an  attitude  of  be- 
wilderment or  agnostic  neutrality.2    But  it  is  possible  for 

1  Albert  Parker  Fitch,  The  College  Course  and  the  Preparation  for  Life, 
pp.  131-40.  This  statement,  from  the  pen  of  the  president  of  one  of  our 
leading  theological  schools,  is  a  typical  expression  of  the  point  of  view  now 
rapidly  gaining  ground,  that  religion  is  essentially  a  life  rather  than  a  belief 
or  set  of  beliefs.  The  modern  terms  "philosophy  of  religion,"  and  "science 
of  religion,"  which  are  largely  displacing  the  older  term  "theology,"  make 
the  relation  clearer.   Theology  is  a  philosophizing  about  religion. 

s  This  step  has  actually  been  taken  by  many  who  regard  religion  as  a  set 
of  beliefs.  Cf.  J.  M.  E.  McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Christianity,  pp.  292- 
93:  "It  follows  that  no  man  is  justified  in  a  religious  attitude  except  as  a 
result  of  metaphysical  study.  .  .  .  Since  [men]  are  confronted  on  all  sides 
with  religions  different  from  their  own,  it  is  inevitable  that  they  should  ask 
themselves  why  they  believe  their  religions  to  be  true.  And  when  the  ques- 
tion is  once  asked,  what  can  avert  a  widespread  recognition  that  the  truth 


THE  ESSENCE   OF  RELIGION  221 

men  to  contrast  different  ideals  and  estimate  their  relative 
worth;  to  try  different  ways  of  life  and  know  which  is  best. 
The  truth  of  religion,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  is  experi- 
mentally verifiable ;  it  is  'practical  truth.  And  if  we  give  Chris- 
tianity our  allegiance  it  is  because  nineteen  centuries  of 
repeated  experience  have  conclusively  shown  its  insight  into 
human  needs  to  be  most  profound  and  its  Way  to  be  the 
solution  for  the  eternal  problem  of  human  life. 

The  important  thing,  then,  about  a  religion  is  not  the 
rationality  or  irrationality  of  its  intellectual  conceptions,  but 
the  spirituality  and  vision  of  its  ideals.  The  lack  of  ration- 
ality may  limit  its  influence  and  detract  from  its  power;  but 
without  the  glowing  fire  of  moral  idealism  it  is  dead.  What 
though  creeds  and  rites  are  foolish  and  fanciful,  so  the  spirit- 
ual vision  is  high  and  ennobling!  Seeing  this  precious  treas- 
ure, which  no  faith  has  been  utterly  without,  we  may  be 
gently  tolerant  of  all  theoretical  blunders,  and  of  the  "old 
clothes  "  —  to  use  Carlyle's  picturesque  metaphor  —  in 
which  religion  is  so  commonly  wrapped. 

Our  generation  needs  the  warning  that  enlightenment  can- 
not take  the  place  of  religion.  We  have  learned  to  under- 
stand the  facts  of  life  better  than  our  forefathers;  but  that 
intellectual  gain  is  but  dust  and  ashes  in  our  mouths  if  we 
lose  the  secret  of  their  religious  experience.  Grim  old  Puri- 
tans that  they  were,  narrow-minded  and  bigoted  and  igno- 
rant of  all  our  science,  their  picture  of  history  the  sheerest 
melodrama,  at  least  their  religion  had  a  deep  practical 
meaning  to  them,  saved  them  from  much  sin,  and  threw  a 
halo  about  their  lives.  Again,  no  normal  man  can  read  such 
a  book  as  James's  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience  without 

of  religion  can  only  rest  on  foundations  too  controversial  to  be  taken  on 
trust,  and  too  obscure  for  many  people  to  investigate?" 

The  opening  chapter  of  this  book  is  a  good  defense  of  the  conception  of 
religion  as  a  set  of  theological  conceptions. 


222  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

perceiving,  on  the  one  hand,  the  grotesqueness  and  unreality 
of  the  beliefs  of  many  whose  experiences  are  there  related, 
and  yet  realizing  that  they  had  hold  of  a  great  secret.  The 
unquestionable  fact  is  that  religious  people  have  found  some- 
thing precious  that  other  folk  have  missed.  And  among 
these  religious  folk  are  to  be  counted,  not  by  any  means  all 
those  who  have  belonged  to  this  church  or  that,  or  believed 
this,  that,  or  any  creed,  but  all  those  who  have  risen  above 
the  ordinary,  humdrum  level  of  human  existence  into  the 
realm  of  deeper  breathing  and  brighter  vision,  all  those  who 
have  felt  the  power  and  peace  of  an  altered  life. 

What  is  the  relation  of  religion  to  morality? 

If  religion  is  to  be  conceived  as  a  way  to  live  rather  than 
as  a  set  of  cosmological  or  historical  beliefs,  wherein  is  it 
different  from  morality? 

Historically  speaking,  the  religions  have  been  something 
more  than  the  moral  codes  which  they  incorporated.  They 
have  framed  those  codes  with  some  sort  of  cosmic  signifi- 
cance, have  invested  them  with  emotional  values,  and  made 
them  dynamic.  "Merely  moral"  men  are  those  who  have 
been  correct  in  their  behavior,  but  who  have  failed  to  see  the 
super-personal  setting  of  the  restraints  which  they  obeyed, 
have  missed  the  far  vistas,  the  calling  forth  of  loyalty,  the 
unction  and  the  joy  that  religious  men  have  known.  The 
moralist  approaches  the  problems  of  life  through  intellec- 
tual comprehension,  and  the  result  is  the  life  of  reason;  the 
prophet  approaches  them  through  his  heart  and  intuition, 
and  the  result  is  religion.  Mere  morality  is  prosaic,  cool,  ex- 
act; religion  is  imaginative,  emotional,  exaggerated.  Benja- 
min Franklin's  maxims  are  moral,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
is  religious.  In  religion  a  cold  necessity  has  become  a  glorious 
privilege,  the  latent  enthusiasms  in  a  man's  heart  have  been 
awakened;  the  religious  man  is  he  who  feels  the  infinite  im- 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  223 

portance  of  moral  choice,  the  boundlessness  and  depth  of 
duty,  and  yearns  for  a  noble  and  sinless  life.  Morality  may 
be  a  matter  of  policy  or  of  habit;  religion  is  an  inward  thing, 
a  dedication  of  heart  and  will,  a  positive  espousal  of  ideals.1 

The  Greek  philosophers  supposed  that  wisdom  alone 
would  be  enough  to  steer  men  aright  in  their  problems  of 
conduct.  But  the  rational  view  of  morality  developed  by 
Plato  and  Aristotle  failed  to  regenerate  the  world.  Men's 
instincts  and  passions  are  too  strong;  they  need  to  conquer 
emotion  by  emotion,  to  be  caught  up  by  a  great  conception 
that  can  arouse  their  dormant  idealism,  awaken  their  loyalty, 
and  make  them  care  for  the  Way  that  reason  approves  but 
leaves  so  uninviting.  Most  of  our  temptations  owe  their 
appeal  to  our  craving  for  happiness,  for  excitement,  for 
something  great,  the  quickened  heartbeats  and  deeper 
breathing  of  a  passion  given  rein.  Morality  is  dull,  repres- 
sive, cold;  and  while  we  acknowledge  its  utility,  we  often 
lack  the  power  to  care  for  and  follow  its  behests.  Religion 
satisfies  this  need,  meeting  excitement  with  excitement,  joy 
with  a  purer  joy,  giving  us  something  bigger  and  better  than 
the  temptation  from  which  it  turns  us.  It  not  only  tells  a 
man  what  to  do,  it  pushes  him  into  doing  it;  it  not  only  sets 
up  a  code,  it  gets  into  a  man's  heart  and  saves  him.  Histori- 
cally, this  is  what  the  religions,  as  contrasted  with  the  mere 
philosophies  and  moral  codes,  have  done;  and  any  man 

1  Cf.  Matthew  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma,  chap.  1,  pp.  18,  17:  "The 
object  of  religion  is  conduct.  .  .  .  Religion  means  simply  either  a  binding  to 
righteousness  or  else  a  serious  attending  to  righteousness  and  dwelling  upon 
it.  Which  of  these  two  it  most  nearly  means,  depends  upon  the  view  we 
take  of  the  word's  derivation;  but  it  means  one  of  them,  and  they  are  very 
much  the  same.  ...  Is  there,  therefore,  no  difference  between  what  is 
ethical,  or  morality,  and  religion?  There  is  a  difference,  a  difference  of 
degree.  Religion,  if  we  follow  the  intention  of  human  thought  and  human 
language  in  the  use  of  the  word,  is  ethics  heightened,  enkindled,  lit  up  by 
feeling;  the  passage  from  morality  to  religion  is  made  when  to  morality  is 
applied  emotion.  And  the  true  meaning  of  religion  is  thus,  not  simply 
morality,  but  morality  touched  by  emotion." 


224  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

deserves  to  be  called  religious  by  whom  an  ideal  of  life  has 
been  so  heartily  and  loyally  espoused  that  it  lifts  him,  in 
some  measure,  above  the  power  of  temptation  to  seduce  or 
of  ill  fortune  to  depress.1 

A  rational  study  of  ethics  presents  us  only  with  relative 
values;  this  way,  it  says,  will  lead  to  such  and  such  results, 
this  duty  is  on  the  whole  and  in  most  cases  the  higher.  It 
speaks  in  terms  of  probability  and  approximation;  the  ideal 
remains  for  it  always  problematic  and  open  to  doubt.  But 
men  cannot  live  by  probabilities;  success  demands  definite 
choice.  Religion  is  such  a  choice;  it  commits  a  man,  for  better 
or  worse,  to  a  clear-cut,  concrete  ideal.  It  is,  as  has  been 
said,  a  "great  bias."  The  religious  man  pledges  his  alle- 
giance, he  no  longer  weighs  and  considers,  no  longer  deals 
with  advantages  and  utilities;  he  obeys  the  command, 
"Thou  shalt  not!"  he  labels  the  one  act  Duty  and  the  other 
Sin.  The  classic  Greek  ideal  was  one  of  moderation;  "noth- 
ing in  excess"  was  its  motto.  And  the  worldly  man  of  all 
times  has  sought  this  via  media;  as  much  altruism  and  hon- 
esty and  purity  as  pays,  no  more.  Not  such  is  the  temper  of 
the  religious  man;  he  is  an  extremist,  quixotic,  weighing  no 

1  Cf.  James,  op.  cit.,  pp.  41-51:  "Morality  pure  and  simple  accepts  the 
law  of  the  whole  which  it  finds  reigning,  so  far  as  to  acknowledge  and  obey 
it,  but  it  may  obey  it  with  the  heaviest  and  coldest  heart,  and  never  cease 
to  feel  it  as  a  yoke.  But  for  religion,  in  its  strong  and  fully  developed  mani- 
festations, the  service  of  the  highest  never  is  felt  as  a  yoke.  Dull  submission 
is  left  far  behind,  and  a  mood  of  welcome,  which  may  fill  any  place  on  the 
scale  between  cheerful  serenity  and  enthusiastic  gladness,  has  taken  its 
place.  .  .  .  Whereas  the  merely  moralistic  spurning  takes  an  effort  of  voli- 
tion, the  Christian  spurning  is  the  result  of  the  excitement  of  a  higher  kind 
of  emotion,  in  the  presence  of  which  no  exertion  of  volition  is  required.  .  .  . 
If  religion  is  to  mean  anything  definite  for  us,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  ought 
to  take  it  as  meaning  this  added  dimension  of  emotion,  this  enthusiastic 
temper  of  espousal,  in  regions  where  morality  strictly  so  called  can  at  best 
but  bow  its  head  and  acquiesce.  It  ought  to  mean  nothing  short  of  this  new 
reach  of  freedom  for  us,  with  the  struggle  over,  the  keynote  of  the  universe 
sounding  in  our  ears,  and  everlasting  possession  spread  before  our  eyes.  .  .  . 
Religion  thus  makes  easy  and  felicitous  what  in  any  case  is  necessary." 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  225 

loss  against  his  gain.  Christianity  demands  not  a  modicum 
of  love  and  purity,  but  boundless  love  and  absolute  purity. 
No  man,  it  says,  but  is  our  brother  and  must  be  loved  to  the 
end;  no  ideal  is  too  high  to  put  up  as  our  goal.  By  demand- 
ing all,  it  touches  the  deepest  springs  in  our  nature,  opens  up 
infinite  horizons,  gives  us  a  sense  of  quickened  living. 

Another  characteristic  of  religion  is  its  simplicity.  Mo- 
rality consists  in  following  a  heterogeneous  set  of  precepts; 
religion  unifies,  gives  a  single  direction  and  aim.1  Amid  the 
tangle  of  possibilities  and  the  conflicting  calls  of  impulse  it 
points  the  finger  and  says,  "Do  thus  and  so!"  Confused  by 
the  manifold  instincts  that  his  life  engenders,  beset  by  insidi- 
ous temptations  that  he  knows  not  how  to  resist,  the  reli- 
gious man  gives  his  allegiance  to  a  definite  ideal;  though  it  be 
not  ultimately  the  best,  he  takes  it  for  his,  he  devotes  his 
heart  to  it,  he  makes  it  a  part  of  himself;  and  through  this 
single-heartedness  he  solves  the  problem  of  his  life.2 

What  is  the  essential  nature  of  religion? 

Religion,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  is  the  devotion  of 
the  heart  and  will  to  some  great  ideal  of  life.  It  is  the  uni- 
versal war  against  sin  and  wrong,  greatly  and  imaginatively 
conceived.  It  is  the  divine  urge  in  the  human  breast  —  "the 
life  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man."  It  summons  men  from  their 
haphazard,  animal  life,  rescues  them  from  their  passions,  is 

1  Cf.  F.  Adler,  The  Essentials  of  Spirituality:  "The  spiritually  minded 
person  [=  the  religious  person]  is  one  who  regards  whatever  he  undertakes 
from  the  point  of  view  of  hindering  or  furthering  the  attainment  of  a 
supreme  end." 

2  Discussions  of  the  relation  between  religion  and  morality,  besides  those 
of  Matthew  Arnold  and  William  James  from  which  excerpts  have  been 
quoted,  will  be  found  in  G.  H.  Palmer's  Field  of  Ethics,  chap,  iv;  G.  Gallo- 
way's Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  195-204;  G.  T.  Ladd's  Philosophy  of  Reli- 
gion, vol.  i,  chap,  xix;  New  World,  vol.  2,  p.  453;  American  Journal  of  The- 
ology, vol.  7,  p.  259;  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  4,  p.  229;  Hibbsrt 
Journal,  vol.  12,  p.  529. 


226  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

never  without  the  sense  that  they  need  correction,  adjust- 
ment, salvation.  Its  presence  means  emancipation  from  the 
cares  and  fears  of  worldliness,  release  from  anxious,  bur- 
dened moods,  a  new  tranquillization,  poise  of  spirit,  power; 
a  widening  of  horizons,  an  easing  of  strain,  an  inner  resource- 
fulness and  stability.  The  individual  loses  himself  in  a  larger 
life,  and  thereby  finds  that  life  has  more  dignity  and  worth 
than  the  natural  man  knows. 

Religion,  if  it  is  worthy  the  name,  always  brings  this 
sense  of  revelation,  of  profounder  insight  into  the  meaning  of 
things,  a  new  evaluation  and  perspective.  Its  task  is  "the 
salvation  of  men  through  the  transformation  of  a  natural 
life  into  a  life  whose  dwelling-place  lies  beyond  human  woe 
and  sin."  There  is  a  way  to  live  —  it  has  been  found  over 
and  over  again  by  this  saint  and  that  —  that  ennobles  life 
and  gives  it  a  heavenly  radiance;  it  is  of  the  pathos  of  human 
existence  that  so  few  have  caught  the  vision,  so  few  have 
learned  the  precious  secret  that  might  be  the  heritage  of  all. 
But  some  dim  measure  of  the  truth  has  been  grasped  and 
passed  on  from  age  to  age,  some  glimmers  of  spiritual  in- 
sight, shining  through  the  superstitions  and  dogmas  that 
have  enveloped  them,  giving  a  certain  unity  to  the  varie- 
gated religious  practices  of  men.  This  core  of  spiritual  life 
at  the  heart  of  so  many  diverse  systems  —  marred  as  it  is  by 
many  excrescences,  mingled  with  all  sorts  of  blunders  and 
illusions,  and  overlaid  by  the  laborious  interpretations  of  the 
groping  intellect  —  is  the  essence  of  religion. 

There  are  many  possible  attitudes  toward  life.  A  man 
may  be  cowed  and  despairing,  he  may  be  unemotional,  indif- 
ferent, sodden;  he  may  be  rebellious,  or  cynical,  or  frivolous, 
or  melancholy.  There  is  the  rake,  who  makes  of  life  a  de- 
bauch; there  is  the  Epicurean,  who  makes  of  it  a  dainty  pur- 
suit of  enjoyment;  there  is  the  humorist,  who  makes  of  it  a 
joke.  To  all  these  attitudes  religion  is  sharply  opposed.  The 


THE  ESSENCE  OF  RELIGION  227 

religious  attitude,  through  all  its  variations,  is  an  earnest, 
aspiring  attitude.  It  seeks  to  wean  men  from  their  hap- 
hazard, hand-to-mouth  existence,  to  save  them  from  the 
satiety  and  restlessness  and  heart-hunger  that  are  inevitably 
engendered  by  selfish  and  sensual,  and  even  by  trivial  and 
flabby,  living.  Sad  it  may  sometimes  be,  when  confronted 
by  the  ineffaceable  pain  and  disillusions  of  life,  ecstatic  and 
light-hearted  it  may  be  in  brighter  moments;  but  it  is  always 
serious,  demanding  restraint  of  conduct  and  discipline  of 
will.  Goethe,  with  all  his  genius,  and  whatever  the  strength 
of  his  theological  convictions,  was  not  a  religious  man,  be- 
cause he  lived  for  the  exploitation  of  his  passions  and  the 
gratification  of  his  personal  ambitions.  Rousseau,  with  all 
his  pious  sentiments,  was  palpably  irreligious,  because  he 
had  in  his  heart  no  principle  of  loyalty  or  consecration  that 
even  struggled  to  overcome  his  animal  instincts  and  worldly 
desires.  In  sharp  contrast  with  such  "carnal"  men,  the 
great  religious  seers,  from  Buddha  and  Zoroaster  to  Wesley 
or  Phillips  Brooks,  have  been  men  whose  lives  have  been 
dedicated  to  a  great  ideal,  and  who  in  its  service  have  found 
daily  inspiration  and  joy. 

It  may  be  thought  that  this  is  too  simple  a  matter  to  con- 
stitute religion.  But  religion  does  not  exist  to  persuade  men 
to  believe  something  unnatural  and  a  mystery;  it  exists  to 
express  and  keep  before  them  those  natural  ideals  which 
they  do  in  their  better  moments  believe  in,  but  tend  forever 
to  forget ;  to  make  them,  in  despite  of  temptation  and  inertia 
and  willfulness,  steadily  remember  and  care  for  and  obey 
them.  To  reinforce  the  weak  voice  of  these  ideals  men  need 
to  make  a  religion  of  them,  to  devote  themselves  to  their 
commands  with  ardor,  and  become  possessed  by  them.  Not 
only  must  the  mind  be  convinced,  the  heart  must  be  won 
from  sin,  the  imagination  must  be  stirred,  the  ideal  which  the 
needs  and  conditions  of  our  life  prescribe  must  be  thought  of 


228  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

not  as  a  yoke,  to  be  heavily  and  grudgingly  obeyed,  but  as  a 
vision  to  be  passionately  loved  and  followed.  And  religion, 
because  it  does  that  for  man,  is  the  greatest  and  most  beau- 
tiful thing  in  his  life. 

H.  B.  Mitchell,  Talks  on  Religion,  chap.  i.  E.  S.  Ames,  Psychol- 
ogy of  Religious  Experience,  pt.  iv.  W.  James,  Varieties  of  Religions 
Experience,  chaps,  i-n.  L.  Tolstoy,  What  is  Religion?  H.  HSffding, 
Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  105-16.  G.  Galloway,  Philosophy  of 
Religion,  chap.  iv.  G.  B.  Foster,  Function  of  Religion  in  the  Life  of 
Man.  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Religion,  a  Criticism  and  a  Forecast,  chap, 
in.  M.  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma:  Preface,  Introduction,  chap. 
I.  J.  H.  Leuba,  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  pt.  i,  and  Appendix. 
H.  F.  Hall,  Hearts  of  Men.  W.  Bender,  Wesen  der  Religion.  B.  P. 
Bowne,  Essence  of  Religion.  J.  R.  Seeley,  Natural  Religion,  Preface, 
and  pt.  i.  J.  Royce,  Philosophy  of  Loyalty,  chap.  viii.  J.  M.  E. 
McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Religion,  chap.  I.  Emerson,  Charac- 
ter, The  Preacher,  Sovereignty  of  Ethics  (in  Lectures  and  Biographies). 
G.  T.  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  vol.  i,  chap.  xxn.  B.  Russell, 
Philosophical  Essays,  n.  Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  11,  p.  46.  Harvard 
Theological  Review,  vol.  4,  p.  229.  Monist,  vol.  11,  p.  536. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION 

Is  Christianity  the  true  religion? 

The  traditional  conception  of  Christendom  has  been  that 
it  is  the  only  true  faith  and  all  others  are  false;  on  the  one 
hand,  a  God-given  and  ultimate  religion,  on  the  other, 
nothing  but  man-made  and  erroneous  superstitions.  Such  a 
judgment,  we  have  now  come  to  see,  was  a  presumptuous 
and  narrow  conceit.  Christianity  is  one  of  several  wide- 
spread and  inspiring  religions,  by  which  men  have  been 
helped  to  live  and  for  which  they  have  been  ready  to  die. 
Only  Christians  are  to  be  "saved"?  And  Christianity  has 
existed  less  than  two  thousand  years,  out  of  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  since  man  emerged  from  the  brute!  There  were 
flourishing  civilizations,  men  and  women  honorable,  pure, 
religious,  centuries  before  Christ,  or  Jehovah,  was  ever 
heard  of.  The  old  Christian  conception  of  history  covers  but 
six  thousand  years  in  all  —  and  leaves  out  during  that  time 
the  matchless  Greek  civilization,  spurns  the  splendid  Roman 
order,  includes  everything  but  its  own  local  and  brief  phase 
of  history  in  one  sweeping  condemnation.  Because,  for- 
sooth, all  these  did  not  worship  the  Jewish  Jehovah! 

If  to  believe  this  were  Christianity,  then  Christianity 
would  be  doomed  to  speedy  extinction.  It  were  too  parochial 
an  affair,  with  too  small  a  range  of  vision,  inapplicable  to  the 
wider  stage  of  human  history.  This  arrogant  and  perverted 
perspective  is  out  of  line  with  all  else  that  we  learn  of  man 
and  his  progress,  this  singularly  partial  God  unworthy  of  our 
worship ;  and  a  dogmatic  structure  based  on  this  conception, 


230  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

however  buttressed  by  argument,  and  however  full  of  pre- 
cious consolation  to  its  believers,  cannot  but  fall  as  men  grow 
more  enlightened  and  more  humane.  Not  merely  in  the  two 
thousand  years  of  Christianity,  but  in  some  degree  in  all 
religions  and  among  all  races,  man's  groping  spiritual  life  has 
found  expression. 

Yet  if  all  the  great  religions  have  truth  in  them,  Christian- 
ity, .we  may  justly  claim,  has  the  fullest  measure  of  truth. 
The  Christian  life,  at  its  best,  is  the  highest  type  of  life  pro- 
posed to  man;  and  Christ  is  humanity's  profoundest  teacher 
and  most  fitting  guide.  The  particular  concepts  and  phrase- 
ology of  the  religion  that  centers  about  him,  though  open  to 
narrow  misinterpretations  and  leading  often  to  an  unhappy 
dogmatism,  are  of  the  deepest  and  most  vital  significance. 
The  Fatherhood  of  God,  the  Holy  Spirit  in  our  hearts,  the 
Divinity  of  Christ,  the  Cross  that  we  must  bear,  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven  toward  which  we  strive  —  such  language 
represents  so  adequately  the  highest  yearnings  and  insights 
of  the  spiritual  life  that  mankind  may  well  come  more  and 
more  to  employ  it  to  express,  in  appropriate  symbols,  its 
perennial  aspirations  and  its  eternal  joys.1 

1  Cf.  S.  Reinach,  Orpheus  (Eng.  tr.),  p.  232:  "Christianity  ...  is  the 
mightiest  spiritual  force  which  has  ever  transformed  souls,  a  force  which 
continues  to  evolve  in  them.  ...  It  is  the  morality  of  the  school  without  a 
school,  purified  and  distilled  in  ardent  souls,  with  all  the  charm  and  all  the 
persuasive  force  of  popular  conceptions." 

So  Loisy,  The  Gospel  and  the  Church,  "The  spirit  of  the  Gospel  is  the 
highest  manifestation  of  the  human  conscience  seeking  happiness  in  just- 
ice." 

And  J.  Royce,  The  Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  1,  p.  10-11 :  "The  Chris- 
tian religion  is,  thus  far  at  least,  man's  most  impressive  vision  of  salvation, 
and  his  principal  glimpse  of  the  home-land  of  the  spirit  .  .  .  the  most  effec- 
tive expression  of  religious  longing  which  the  human  race,  travailing  in  pain 
until  now,  has,  in  its  corporate  capacity,  as  yet  been  able  to  bring  before  its 
imagination  as  a  vision,  or  has  endeavored  to  translate,  by  the  labor  of  love, 
into  the  terms  of  its  own  real  life." 

For  none  of  these  authors  is  Christianity  marked  off  by  supernatural 
revelation  from  the  other  religions,  or  radically  different  in  kind.   It  is  sim- 


THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  231 

The  Gospel  of  Christ 

To  find  the  essence  of  Christianity,  we  must  go  first,  of 
course,  to  the  teachings  of  Christ,  as  recorded  in  the  Synop- 
tic Gospels.  We  need  not  here  repeat  the  summary  of  that 
teaching  which  we  made  in  an  earlier  chapter.1  But  we  may 
pause  to  point  out  that  subsequent  Christianity,  though  it 
moved  far  from  its  founder's  spirit  in  its  creeds  and  cere- 
monies and  institutions,  yet  retained,  and  retains  to  this 
day,  a  bright  glow  from  that  original  fire. 

Christ's  first  word  was  " Repent !"  —  which  meant,  not 
"Do  penitence!"  but  "Turn  about,  live  a  new  kind  of  life!" 
Men  were  to  care  for  heavenly,  spiritual  treasures  rather 
than  for  worldly  treasures,  to  lose  their  lives  in  order  really 
to  find  them,  to  seek  to  minister  rather  than  to  be  ministered 
unto.  The  radicalism  of  this  demand  is  obscured  for  us  by 
its  familiarity;  but  it  was  hardly  straining  the  metaphor  to 
say,  "  Except  a  man  be  born  again  he  cannot  enter  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven."  For  Paul  this  need  of  regeneration  was 
symbolized  by  the  Cross  —  "  they  that  are  Christ's  have 
crucified  the  flesh  with  its  passions  and  lusts";  they  must 
die  with  Christ  to  the  old  life  and  rise  with  him  to  the  new. 
Paul  told  also  of  miraculous  occurrences  —  of  the  earthly 
life,  the  resurrection,  and  the  future  coming  of  the  Christ. 
But  the  heart  of  his  gospel  was  the  possibility  of  a  new  Life 
for  his  hearers,  the  putting  off  of  the  old  man  and  putting  on 
of  the  new.  "  In  Christ  Jesus  neither  circumcision  availeth 
anything  nor  uncircumcision,  but  a  new  nature."  The  Church 
has  clung  throughout  all  its  changing  theologies  to  this  fun- 
ply  the  best  of  many  good  religions.  For  criticisms  of  Christianity,  see 
H.  Sturt,  The  Idea  of  a  Free  Church  ;  H.  Holley,  The  Modern  Social  Religion 
(Bahaism),  pt.  iv;  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Religion  and  Immortality,  chap,  i;  W. 
Rauschenbusch,  Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis,  chap,  iv;  New  World, 
vol.  1,  p.  618. 

1  See  above,  pp.  75-81. 


232  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

damental  sense  of  the  need  of  a  radical  turnabout  from  the 
desires  and  passions  of  the  natural  man  to  the  new  passions 
and  loyalties  of  the  spiritual  life.1  This  teaching  was  foolish- 
ness to  the  Greeks  whom  Paul  addressed;  it  is  foolishness  to 
the  worldly-minded  to-day.  But  the  accumulating  experi- 
ence of  nineteen  centuries  proves,  for  those  who  have  eyes  to 
see,  that  it  is  the  deepest  wisdom. 

But  the  teaching  of  Christ  was  not,  as  has  so  often  been 
supposed,  an  other-worldliness,  a  snatching  away  of  a  few 
saved  souls  from  a  world  left  to  its  fate  into  a  heaven  in  the 
skies.  On  the  contrary,  he  prayed  that  God's  will  be  done  on 
earth  as  in  heaven;  he  foretold,  and  bade  men  prepare  for, 
the  coming  divine  age  when  righteousness  and  peace  should 
reign  in  men's  hearts,  and  injustice,  cruelty,  and  sin  should 
be  done  away.  His  faith  in  and  ardor  for  this  new  era  of  a 
bettered  human  life  on  earth  dominated  all  his  teaching;  his 
plea  was  that  there  and  then  his  listeners  should  begin  for 
themselves  the  New  Life  and  form  the  nucleus  of  the  new 
community.  And  though  we  may  have  to  restate  them  in 
modern  language,  the  same  great  Hope  and  the  same  great 
Duty  that  flamed  in  Jesus'  gospel  can  still  fire  our  hearts. 
For  the  Kingdom  is  coming  now  "with  observation"; 
though  it  is  not  so  much  a  "Lo,  here!"  or  "Lo,  there!"  that 
reveals  it  as  the  long  vista  of  history.  Pessimism  as  to  hu- 
man progress  is  shallow  observation;  great  as  is  the  evil  in 

1  Cf.  T.  H.  Green,  Two  Sermons,  pp.  16,  70:  "The  primary  Christian  idea 
is  that  of  a  moral  death  into  life."  "The  great  concern  of  the  best  Christian 
teachers  has  been  ...  to  bring  their  people  to  enact  in  their  own  hearts  and 
lives  the  work  which  the  creeds  rehearse;  not  to  convince  them  that  Christ 
was  miraculously  born  and  died  and  rose  again,  but  so  to  affect  them  as  that 
they  shall  die  and  rise  again  with  him.  ..."  And  C.  Bigg,  The  Church's 
Task  under  the  Roman  Emjrire,  Introduction:  "Christianity  per  genus  is  a 
religion;  per  differ entiam  it  is  the  religion  of  the  Cross.  The  Fatherhood  of 
God,  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  revelation,  sacrifice,  prophecy,  and  law 
are  common  to  many  religions.  .  .  .  But  the  Cross  is  the  peculiar  property 
of  the  Gospel.   This  is  the  emblem  the  first  Christians  adopted." 


THE   CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  233 

human  life,  and  many  as  are  its  setbacks,  amelioration  is, 
on  the  whole,  a  fact  beyond  dispute.  And  every  Christian 
should  work  with  those  who  are  battling  with  the  forces  of 
evil  and  helping  to  bring  in  the  new  time.1 

If  Christian  evangelism  and  zeal  for  regenerative  work 
derive  thus  from  the  Gospel  of  the  Master,  so  nearly  all  the 
ideals  which  the  Church  has  stood  for  can  be  found  adum- 
brated in  his  teaching.  The  summons  "Back  to  Christ!" 
has  been  the  cry  of  most  of  the  great  reformers  since  his 
time.  Humanity  is  forever  losing  the  vision,  thinking  to  be 
saved  by  sacraments  and  outward  conformities,  drifting 
away  from  the  spiritual  insights  that  the  Church  exists  to 
perpetuate.  Men  are  reading  the  Gospels  less  to-day  than 
formerly,  and  in  the  rush  and  prosperity  of  modern  life  for- 
getting or  even  despising  the  simple  precepts  of  the  Galilean. 
But  outward  prosperity  is  a  fickle  goddess  to  worship;  and 
even  when  her  favors  are  constant  she  leaves  the  heart 
parched  and  empty.  If  we  would  learn  the  deepest  secrets  of 
life  we  must  turn  not  to  the  captains  of  industry,  the  states- 
men, or  even  the  poets,  but  to  those  who  have  lived  in  pas- 
sionate loyalty  to  a  religious  ideal;  and  of  them  all  the  peer- 
less leader  is  Christ. 

"We  are  weak,  dragged  down  by  animal  instincts  and  im- 
pulses; helpless  often,  before  the  sins  which  do  so  easily  beset 

1  Cf.  J.  S.  Mill,  Theism  (end):  "A  battle  is  constantly  going  on,  in  which 
the  humblest  human  creature  is  not  incapable  of  taking  some  part,  between 
the  powers  of  good  and  those  of  evil,  and  in  which  every  even  the  smallest 
help  to  the  right  side  has  its  value  in  promoting  the  very  slow  and  often 
almost  insensible  progress  by  which  good  is  gradually  gaining  ground  from 
evil,  yet  gaining  so  visibly  at  considerable  intervals  as  to  promise  the  very 
distant  but  not  uncertain  final  victory  of  Good.  To  do  something  during 
life,  on  even  the  humblest  scale  if  nothing  more  is  within  reach,  towards 
bringing  this  consummation  ever  so  little  nearer,  is  the  most  animating  and 
invigorating  thought  which  can  inspire  a  human  creature;  and  that  it  is 
destined,  with  or  without  supernatural  sanctions,  to  be  the  religion  of  the 
future  I  cannot  entertain  a  doubt." 


234  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

us:  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  kept  him,  not  only 
pure  in  deed,  but  pure  in  heart.  .  .  .  We  are  selfish,  lovers  of 
ease,  concerned  for  personal  comfort :  the  religious  conscious- 
ness of  Jesus  held  him  tranquil  when  he  knew  not  where  to 
lay  his  head.  .  .  .  We  are  troubled  about  many  things,  eager 
for  possessions :  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  kept  him 
free  from  the  clutch  of  material  things,  held  him  peacefully 
assured  that  even  food  and  raiment  are  but  things  to  be 
added  unto  the  true  life.  .  .  .  We  are  despondent,  morose, 
afraid  to  be  glad:  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  led  him 
to  rejoice  in  the  beauty  of  the  world,  made  him  no  less  wel- 
come at  the  feast  than  in  the  house  of  mourning.  We  are 
hampered  at  every  turn  by  conventions,  concerned  for  the 
outside  of  the  platter:  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus 
held  ever  clearly  before  him  the  true  values  of  life.  .  .  .  We 
are  dull  of  sight,  given  to  miserable  misunderstandings:  the 
religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  gave  him  a  quick  and  sure 
insight  into  the  hearts  of  men  and  women,  so  that  the  com- 
mon people  heard  him  gladly  and  all  the  city  was  gathered 
together  at  his  door.  We  are  bitter,  unforgiving,  ungenerous : 
the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  enabled  him  to  forgive  all 
things,  because  'they  know  not  what  they  do.'  We  are  cow- 
ardly, afraid  of  suffering,  physical  and  mental,  afraid,  con- 
tinually, of  what  may  happen :  the  religious  consciousness  of 
Jesus  rendered  him  absolutely  fearless,  capable  of  defying 
without  hesitation  a  religious  conservatism  bitterly  intoler- 
ant and  vindictive,  carried  him  from  one  danger  to  another 
with  a  courage  quiet,  steady,  magnificent.  We  are  cold,  in- 
different, unsympathetic:  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus 
filled  him  with  a  compassion  so  profound,  so  tender,  so 
mighty,  that  the  very  sound  of  his  voice,  and  touch  of  his 
hand,  brought  healing  to  the  sick  in  body  and  in  mind.  .  .  . 
In  brief,  the  religious  consciousness  of  Jesus  made  his  life,  so 
full  of  privation,  discouragement,  and  suffering,  the  life  that, 


THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  235 

whatever  may  be  our  creed,  we  all  know  in  our  hearts  was 
the  life  preeminently  worth  living."  l 

The  Christian  religion,  whatever  of  new  insight  it  may 
add  to  its  gospel  from  age  to  age,  as  it  develops  and  adjusts 
itself  to  the  changing  conditions  of  man's  existence,  must 
ever  go  back  to  its  source,  the  life  and  teachings  of  Jesus,  and 
make  the  spirit  that  was  there  so  gloriously  manifested  the 
heart  of  its  message. 

The  Gospel  about  Christ 

Not  a  few  have  maintained  that  the  real  Christianity  is 
simply  —  the  teachings  of  Christ.  Whatever  is  not  there 
found  is  an  extraneous  addition  to  the  religion  which  should 
be  stripped  off,  that  it  may  shine  in  its  original  purity.  To 
such  a  plea  we  may  all,  with  considerable  sympathy,  re- 
spond; whatever,  certainly,  is  alien  to  the  spirit  of  the  Mas- 
ter should  find  no  place  in  a  church  that  calls  itself  by  his 
name.  That  admission  would  shear  from  the  Church  its  reli- 
ance upon  sacraments  and  forms,  its  insistence  upon  ortho- 
doxy, and  many  another  corruption  abhorrent  to  his  spirit. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  recognize  that  man's  prob- 
lems change  from  age  to  age,  his  knowledge  widens,  and  his 
needs  develop.  If  any  religion  is  to  be  permanent  and  uni- 
versal in  its  appeal  and  in  its  help,  it  must  keep  pace  with 

1  The  Religion  of  Christ  in  the  Twentieth  Century,  pp.  176-80,  abridged. 
Cf.  also  R.  E.  Spear,  in  Constructive  Quarterly,  vol.  1,  pp.  544-45:  "My 
thesis  is  that  in  our  search  for  the  essential  and  constructive  principles  of 
Christianity,  we  can  get  more  help  from  foreign  missions  than  from  any 
other  source.  .  .  .  Foreign  missions  embody  the  elements  of  Christianity 
which  are  essential  to  its  life.  .  .  .  They  are  the  present  expression  of  the 
primitive  Christian  spirit  fresh  from  its  first  contact  with  God  in  Christ.  To 
go  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  they  are  the  purest  embodiment  of 
the  spirit  of  absolute  loyalty  to  duty  and  of  utterly  unselfish  love.  And 
these  are  the  two  highest  characteristics  of  the  life  of  our  Lord,  and  there- 
fore of  the  Christian  mind.  They  were  the  two  commandments  of  the  Law 
when  the  Law  had  passed  through  the  alembic  of  his  soul  who  fulfilled  it. 
They  were  the  emphatic  notes  of  his  own  doctrine." 


236  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

this  evolution  and  develop  pari  passu  with  these  needs.  An 
evolution  of  this  sort  there  has,  in  fact,  been.  The  Christian- 
ity of  the  Greek  fathers  was  very  different,  in  many  ways, 
from  the  gospel  of  Christ,  mediaeval  Christianity  still  more 
different;  and  our  modern  Christianity,  although  in  its  "lib- 
eral" phases  harking  back  to  considerable  extent  to  the 
earliest  form  of  the  faith,  yet  includes  elements  foreign  to 
Christ's  own  mind  and  preaching.  And  this  is  as  proper  as 
it  is  inevitable;  it  is  the  churches  that  have  changed  and 
grown  that  have  been  most  alive  and  imparted  most  life  to 
their  members.  We  must  not  confuse  the  question,  What  is 
Christianity?  with  the  question,  What  was  primitive  Chris- 
tianity? The  Christian  religion  is  a  living  reality  now,  and 
entitled  to  definition  in  terms  not  merely  of  what  it  was  at 
the  outset,  but  of  what  it  has  since  become.1 

The  most  conspicuous  element  that  has  been  added  by  the 
Church  to  the  teaching  of  Jesus  is,  of  course,  the  Christologi- 
cal  element,  its  recognition  of  him  as  the  great  Revealer  of 
God  and  spiritual  truth,  and  its  reverent  devotion  to  him. 
Jesus  himself  —  in  spite  of  the  picture  of  him  drawn,  in  a 
later  day,  in  the  Fourth  Gospel  —  did  not  go  about  preach- 
ing his  own  importance  or  teaching  a  doctrine  of  his  own 
nature.  He  talked  not  of  himself  but  of  his  ideals  for  men, 
and  of  the  blessed  time  to  come  when  those  ideals  should  be 
realized  on  earth.  Nevertheless,  to  the  Way  of  Life  taught 
by  him  there  was  bound  to  be  added  an  interpretation  of 
his  life  and  mission ;  to  the  gospel  of  Christ  a  gospel  about 
Christ.  And  this  has  been  an  indispensable  part  of  the  reli- 
gion ever  since. 

The  importance  of  the  emphasis  upon  Christ  himself  — 
rather  than  upon  the  abstract  truth  of  his  teaching  —  lies  in 
the  fact  that  abstract  truths  lack  power  to  move  the  average 

1  Cf.  S.  J.  Case,  Evolution  of  Early  Christianity,  chap,  i:  "The  Develop- 
mental Nature  of  Christianity." 


THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  237 

man;  he  needs  something  concrete  and  visible,  he  finds  God 
chiefly  in  men,  the  best  men  he  knows.  Such  hero-worship 
is  one  of  the  most  potent  of  upbuilding  forces;  through  the 
contemplation  of  their  ideal  as  actually  wrought  into  earthly 
life  in  Christ  many  a  man  has  been  saved  from  sin  who  would 
have  remained  indifferent  to  the  bare  teaching  itself.  Christ 
was  what  we  long  to  be;  the  goodness,  the  purity  and  power 
and  peace,  that  was  in  him  is  the  ideal  of  Christianity.  In 
him  the  word  became  flesh,  the  ideal  became  incarnate.  And 
so  the  central  point  in  the  religion  is  not  a  set  of  abstract 
ideals  but  a  living,  glowing,  appealing  personality.  Christi- 
anity is,  and  will  always  be,  for  most  men,  primarily  a  per- 
sonal loyalty  to  Christ.1 

It  is  true  that  —  judged  a  priori,  and  apart  from  the  act- 
ual course  of  history  —  some  other  spiritual  leader  might 
have  been  idealized  by  his  followers  and  subsequent  genera- 
tions, and  become  our  banner-bearer  and  inspiration.  There 
is  something  arbitrary  about  this  exclusive  devotion  to  one 
man,  however  pure  and  however  great.  But  by  a  conjunction 
of  historical  events  he  has  become  the  one  about  whom  the 
ideals  of  humanity  have  clustered;  he  has  become  a  summa- 
tion and  apotheosis  of  all  human  virtues.  And  it  is  he  who 

1  Cf.  Professor  D.  C.  Macintosh,  of  Yale  School  of  Religion :  "Christian- 
ity is  the  religion  of  discipleship  to  Jesus."  And  Professor  G.  W.  Knox,  of 
Union  Theological  Seminary,  "Christianity  in  its  broadest  definition  is  the 
religion  of  all  those  who  call  Jesus  Lord."  And  E.  Lewis,  in  The  Atlantic, 
vol.  1 14,  p.  735 :  "  That  which  distinguishes  the  Christian  religion  from  every 
other  is  the  supreme  position  it  gives  to  a  personality  and  a  personal  ideal 
once  actually  incarnated  in  terms  of  human  life  and  character,  and  the  cen- 
tral emphasis  it  places  upon  identification  with  the  spirit  of  the  Master  as 
the  determinant  of  conduct  in  the  professed  disciple." 

And  cf.  Carlyle,  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship :  The  Hero  as  Divinity :  "No 
nobler  feeling  than  this  of  admiration  for  one  higher  than  himself  dwells  hi 
the  breast  of  man.  It  is  to  this  hour,  and  at  all  hours,  the  vivifying  influ- 
ence in  man's  life.  Religions  I  find  stand  upon  it;  not  Paganism  only,  but 
far  higher  and  truer  religions,  —  all  religion  hitherto  known.  Hero-worship, 
heartfelt  prostrate  admiration,  submission,  burning,  boundless,  for  a  noblest 
godlike  Form  of  Man,  —  is  not  that  the  germ  of  Christianity  itself?" 


238  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

was  actually  the  spring  and  source  of  the  movement  that 
spread  a  spiritual  religion  over  the  weary  and  wicked  world 
of  the  West,  lighted  a  flame  of  aspiration  and  joy  and  hope, 
amid  dark  and  troubled  times,  that  has  changed  the  face  of 
civilization  and  bids  fair  to  change  it  far  more  in  the  future. 
And  if  we  consider  not  only  what  his  life  and  death  effected, 
but  what  he  himself  was,  if  we  catch  the  vision  of  his  inward 
purity  and  outward  sweetness,  his  freedom  from  bondage  to 
the  orthodoxy  of  his  time,  his  fearless  obedience  to  his  domi- 
nating purpose  in  a  hostile  environment,  the  steadfastness 
with  which  he  kept  true  to  it  even  at  the  cost  of  his  life,  we 
shall  confess  him  a  fitting  model  for  our  contemplation  and 
founder  for  our  Church.1 

But  we  must  insist  that  to  believe  in  Christ  is,  essentially, 
to  believe  that  he  is  our  fitting  master,  that  we  should  live  as 
he  lived.2  Our  Christological  theories  matter  little;  what 
matters  is  that  we  should  take  up  our  cross  and  follow  him. 
That,  at  least,  and  not  any  particular  belief  about  him,  was 
what  he  asked  of  men.  Those  that  were  to  enter  the  King- 
dom were  not  those  that  called  him  "Lord,  Lord!"  but  who- 
ever obeyed  the  Divine  will.3  Blasphemy  against  him  was  to 
be  forgiven;  it  was  only  blasphemy  against  the  holy  spirit 
itself  that  was  the  hopeless  sin.4  So  long  as  men  are  turned 
to  the  right  life  it  matters  little  whether  they  recognize  or 
not  the  sources  of  their  healing  and  inspiration;  a  "Christless 
Christianity,"  if  men  would  actually  live  it,  would  be  infi- 

1  Cf.  C.  F.  Dole,  in  Theology  at  the  Daicn  of  the  Twentieth  Century,  p.  250: 
"Reserving  all  matters  of  dissent  and  criticism,  it  remains  that  Jesus  stands 
as  the  historical  type,  as  well  as  the  teacher,  of  a  new  order  of  human  life. 
.  .  .  Grant  that  these  teachings  were  not  original  with  Jesus.  Nevertheless, 
he  is  the  conspicuous  figure  of  the  man  who  adopted  them,  trusted  them, 
and  went  to  his  death  for  their  sake.  The  teachings  took  his  name,  because 
somehow  he  contrived  to  give  them  reality  and  working  power." 

2  Cf.  E.  Lewis,  he.  cit.,  "Faith  in  Jesus  is  self-identification  with  him  in 
the  spirit  and  practice  of  life." 

s  Matt.  7:  21.  *  Matt.  12:  32.  Luke  12: 10. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  239 

nitely  better  than  a  devout  belief  in  Christ  which  bore  little 
fruit  in  conduct.  But  actually  it  has  been  the  personal  figure 
of  Christ,  blessing  the  little  children,  healing  the  sick,  firing 
the  hearts  of  his  disciples,  facing  the  bigoted  priests,  and  dy- 
ing on  the  Cross,  that  has  brought  poignantly  home  to  men 
the  ideals  for  which  he  lived  and  died.  And  the  Church  has 
done  well  to  cling,  through  all  its  permutations  of  doctrine 
and  practice,  to  its  allegiance  to  the  person  of  its  Founder. 

The  Christian  life  and  Christian  creeds 

The  early  Christians  called  their  religion  not  a  belief  but  a 
Way.1  According  to  the  Fourth  Gospel,  Christ  came  that 
men  might  have  life,  and  life  more  abundantly.  So  Origen 
speaks  of  "the  life  that  Jesus  taught."  The  help  that  he 
gave  —  and  that  we  most  imperiously  need  —  was  a  prac- 
tical help,  an  insight  into  the  true  values  of  life  and  a  method 
of  attaining  them.  This  gospel  came  to  be  clothed  in  the 
concepts  of  current  Greek  thought  and  enshrined  in  an  or- 
ganization of  Roman  lineage.  But  "creedless  Christianity  is 
older  than  any  creeds."  And  that  the  gospel  requires  no 
particular  world-view  for  its  acceptance  is  proved  by  the 
fact  that  it  has  persisted  and  leavened  human  life  through 
the  profoundest  changes  in  outlook  and  belief.  The  simplic- 
ity of  Jesus  and  his  early  followers  was  the  high-water-mark 
of  Christianity;  for  them  the  Life  was  more  and  the  doctrine 
less  than  in  the  subsequent  history  of  the  Church.  After- 
ward dogmas  grew  up,  varying  from  century  to  century,  but 
always  standing  more  or  less  in  the  way  of  free  acceptance 
of  the  Life.  Yet  through  all  these  changes  Christianity  has 
preserved  some  measure  of  its  initial  insight  and  evaluations. 
The  Weltanschauung  of  Christ,  of  Paul,  of  Tertullian,  of 
Athanasius,  of  St.  Augustine,  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  of  Calvin, 
of  Phillips  Brooks,  of  Martineau,  were  as  widely  different  as 

1  Cf.  Acts  9:  2;  19:23. 


240  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

can  well  be  imagined;  but  for  them  all  the  Life  was  essen- 
tially the  same.  This  ideal  of  life,  together  with  a  personal 
allegiance  to  him  who  taught  it,  is  what  all  Christians  have 
in  common. 

From  time  to  time  reformers  have  arisen  who  have  sought 
to  remove  some  of  the  crust  of  speculation  from  the  preach- 
ing of  the  Christian  Life.  In  our  generation,  after  an  era  of 
keen  theological  disputation,  the  current  is  again  setting 
toward  the  spiritual  conception  of  religion;  and  the  Church 
is  putting  its  emphasis  upon  charity  and  purity  and  service. 
But  always  beneath  its  forbidding  formularies  and  elaborate 
theologies  it  has  kept  alive  a  spark  of  the  spirit  of  brother- 
liness  and  earnest  consecration  that  inspired  its  Master, 
Christ,  that  glowed  in  the  bosom  of  Paul  and  the  apostles, 
that  led  St.  Francis  out  to  nurse  the  sick  and  dying,  that  has 
lifted  many  a  humble  and  uncultivated  man  to  a  level  above 
that  of  Csesar  or  Napoleon.  Read  the  Nicene  or  the  Atha- 
nasian  Creed,  and  Christianity  will  appear  to  be  a  sort  of  in- 
tellectual jugglery;  look  at  the  lives  of  the  faithful,  and  you 
will  see  Christianity  in  its  true  essence  and  ultimate  signif- 
icance, as  the  life  of  the  spirit,  illuminating  men's  troubled 
hearts,  bringing  them  inward  power  and  peace. 

"The  first  Christian  associations  were  formed  on  a  basis 
which  was  less  intellectual  than  moral  and  spiritual.  ...  It 
was  a  fellowship  of  a  common  ideal  and  a  common  enthusi- 
asm of  goodness,  of  neighborliness,  and  of  mutual  service,  of 
abstinence  from  all  that  would  arouse  the  evil  passions  of 
human  nature,  of  the  effort  to  crush  the  lower  part  of  us  in 
the  endeavor  to  reach  after  God.  ...  It  is  even  possible  that 
the  baptismal  formula  may  have  consisted,  not  in  an  asser- 
tion of  belief,  but  in  a  promise  of  amendment."  But  "the 
flocking  into  the  Christian  fold  of  the  educated  Greeks  and 
Romans,  who  brought  with  them  the  intellectual  habits  of 
mind  which  dominated  in  the  age,  gave  to  the  intellectual 


THE  CHRISTIAN  RELIGION  241 

element  an  importance  which  it  had  not  previously  possessed. 
Agreement  in  opinion,  which  had  been  the  basis  of  union  in 
the  Greek  philosophical  schools,  and  later  in  the  Gnostic 
societies,  now  came  to  form  a  new  element  in  the  bond  of 
union  within  and  between  churches.  .  .  .  The  insistence  on 
that  intellectual  basis  .  .  .  checked  the  progress  of  Christian- 
ity. Christianity  has  won  no  great  victories  since  its  basis 
was  changed."  l 

Who  is  the  true  Christian? 

A  Christian  is  —  any  one  who  is  consciously  a  follower 
of  Christ,  who  looks  to  Christ  as  his  pattern  and  guide, 
and  sincerely  tries  to  live  the  Christ-life  —  the  life  of  self- 
surrender  and  purity  and  love,  the  life  that  aims  not  to  be 
ministered  unto  but  to  minister  —  in  the  midst  of  a  selfish 
and  sensual  world. 

The  Christian  will  naturally  wish  to  know  what  can  now 
be  known  of  God,  and  Christ,  the  human  soul  and  its  des- 
tiny; and  he  will  gladly  profess  publicly  his  belief  in  what  ap- 
pears to  him  to  be  the  truth.  But  Christ  imposed  no  creedal 
test;  rather,  he  had  scant  consideration  for  the  orthodoxy  of 
his  times,  and  flung  to  men  the  question,  "  Why  judge  ye  not 
of  yourselves  what  is  right?"  So  the  Christian  need  know 
nothing  of  theology,  hold  no  particular  conception  of  the 
person  of  Christ,  and  bind  himself  to  no  creed. 

The  Christian  will  probably  find  inspiration  for  himself 
and  be  able  best  to  help  others  by  allying  himself  with  one  of 
the  churches  that  have  grown  up  about  the  name  of  Christ; 
and  he  will  glory  in  open  confession  of  his  discipleship  to  the 
Master.  But  Christ  founded  no  organization,  and  offered 
salvation  to  men  not  through  sacraments  or  church-going 
but  through  repentance  and  espousal  of  the  New  Life.   So 

1  E.  Hatch,  The  Influence  of  Greek  Ideas  and  Usages  on  the  Christian 
Church,  pp.  335-49,  abridged. 


242  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

the  Christian  need  belong  to  no  church;  and  if  he  does  join 
one  of  the  churches  he  will  look  upon  his  membership  therein 
not  as  in  itself  constituting  him  a  Christian  but  only  as  a 
means  to  quicken  his  spiritual  life  and  enable  him  the  better 
to  serve  his  fellows. 

The  one  essential  requirement  of  the  Christian  is  that  he 
heed  the  admonition  of  the  Apostle,  "Let  him  that  nameth 
the  name  of  Christ  depart  from  iniquity!"  And  yet,  if  he  is 
conscious  that  he  has  sinned,  if  he  despairs  of  his  strength  to 
keep  pure  and  loyal,  he  will  remember  that  Christ  came  to 
save  that  which  was  lost,  called  his  followers  from  among 
just  such  sinful  men,  and  bade  his  disciples  forgive  seventy 
times  seven  times.  Whoever  is  sincerely  repentant  for  past 
faults,  is  ready  to  take  up  his  cross  again  and  follow  Christ, 
is  willing  to  fight  on  against  the  sensual  nature  within  him 
and  to  think  most  not  of  himself  but  of  others,  may,  humbly 
but  proudly,  take  to  himself  the  name  of  Christian. 

W.  A.  Brown,  Essence  of  Christianity.  C.  C.  Everett,  The  Dis- 
tinctive Mark  of  Christianity  (in  Essays,  Theological  and  Literary). 
A.  Sabatier,  Outlines  of  the  Philosophy  of  Religion,  bk.  n,  chap.  n. 
Anon.,  Religion  of  Christ  in  the  Twentieth  Century  (Putnam's,  1906). 
A.  Harnack,  What  is  Christianity?  Christianity  and  History.  J. 
Royce,  Problem  of  Christianity,  vol.  i.  B.  W.  Bacon,  Christianity 
Old  and  New.  L.  Feuerbach,  Essence  of  Christianity.  A.  Loisy, 
Gospel  and  the  Church.  G.  Tyrrell,  Christianity  at  the  Crossroads. 
W.  Rauschenbusch,  Christianity  and  the  Social  Crisis.  W.  Bousset, 
What  is  Religion,  chap.  vn.  B.  H.  Streeter,  Restatement  and  Re- 
union, chap.  i.  W.  H.  P.  Faunce,  What  Does  Christianity  Mean, 
chap.  i.  Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  11,  p.  717.  New  World,  vol.  1,  p.  401 ; 
vol.  9,  p.  246.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  16,  p.  %56.  Har- 
vard Theological  Review,  vol.  7,  p.  16.  Biblical  World,  vol.  44,  p.  398. 


SUMMARY   OF   PART   II 

What  function  does  religion  have  in  the  life  of  man? 

Life  may  be  said  to  consist  broadly  of  two  activities,  the 
adjustment  of  things  to  ourselves  and  the  adjustment  of 
ourselves  to  things;  the  former  is  the  object  of  all  practical 
work,  the  latter  is  the  object  of  religion.  If  men  are  to  live  in 
any  safety  and  comfort  much  labor  must  be  performed  upon 
the  outer  world;  nature  must  be  subdued  and  refashioned  to 
become  adapted  to  man's  needs.  But  this  is  not  all.  ^Yhen 
the  highest  degree  of  physical  security  and  material  luxury 
is  wrested  from  mother  earth,  when  knowledge  is  won  and 
art  developed,  there  remain  sources  of  dissatisfaction  and 
distress.  That  residuum  in  the  nature  of  things  which  man 
cannot  change  confronts  him  and  warns  him  that  his  human 
nature  too  must  be  tamed  and  reshaped  if  he  is  to  attain  to  a 
sure  and  abiding  happiness. 

Thus,  religion  is  not  a  merely  adventitious  source  of  satis- 
faction, an  extra  solace  tacked  on  to  life;  it  is  a  psychological 
necessity.  In  the  broad  and  natural  sense  in  which  we  are 
now  using  the  word,  every  man  must  be  religious  if  his  life 
is  to  be  a  complete  success.  Beset  as  he  is  by  warring  and 
unwise  impulses,  surrounded  by  other  human  beings  with 
wants  and  wills  of  their  own,  confronted  by  the  obdurate 
facts  of  pain  and  separation  and  death,  he  must  learn  to 
weed  out  and  harmonize  his  desires,  to  adjust  his  will  to  the 
welfare  of  those  about  him,  and  to  set  his  heart  upon  such 
things  that  the  uncertainties  of  life  cannot  take  away  his  joy 
in  living  and  plunge  him  into  despair.  To  these  fundamental 
and  irremovable  aspects  of  life  he  must  adapt  himself;  he 


244  PSYCHOLOGICAL 

must  struggle  till  he  attain  to  the  life  of  purity,  the  life  of 
love,  the  life  of  peace. 

The  necessary  adjustment  of  life  to  its  conditions  is  made 
when  we  have  attained  a  harmony  of  our  impulses  with  one 
another,  with  the  wills  of  other  people,  and  with  the  fortune 
that  befalls  us.  By  enlisting  men's  devotion  to  such  ideals, 
by  teaching  a  way  of  life  that  can  save  them  from  sensual- 
ity and  sin,  unite  them  in  brotherhood  and  mutual  service, 
and  lift  them  above  sorrow,  religion  has,  for  those  who  have 
really  grasped  its  secret,  proved  a  solution  of  the  great 
problem  of  life.  From  the  cold  necessity  of  obedience  to 
moral  laws  and  of  self-repression  religion  leads  men  to  a  love 
of  righteousness  and  purity;  from  an  enforced  tribal  loyalty 
and  a  legally  prescribed  justice  religion  lifts  them  to  a  love  of 
their  fellows,  to  a  genuine  unselfishness  and  charity;  from  a 
mere  stunned  submission  to  fortune  or  defiance  of  its  injuries, 
religion  lifts  them  to  the  peace  that  comes  from  complete 
self-surrender  in  the  service  of  the  Ideal.  This  disposition  of 
the  heart  and  will,  through  which  a  man  comes  to  care  for 
the  highest  things  and  to  live  in  gentleness  and  inward  calm 
above  the  surface  aspects  and  accidents  of  life,  we  call,  in  its 
inner  nature,  Spirituality;  when  it  is  embodied  in  outward 
forms  and  institutions,  and  spreads  among  whole  commu- 
nities, we  call  it  a  religion. 

This  spiritual  significance  is  to  be  found  in  some  degree 
in  all  the  religions,  but  in  the  fullest  and  highest  expression 
only  in  Christianity.  Christianity  seeks  to  turn  men  from 
the  life  of  impulse  and  selfishness  to  the  larger  and  holier 
life;  and  the  turning  it  calls  Conversion.  Often  the  change  of 
heart  is  brought  about  only  by  long  struggle  and  repeated 
endeavor.  But  not  infrequently  it  is  effected  better,  at  a 
certain  critical  point,  by  grasping  the  higher  life  through  the 
imagination,  and  claiming  it,  though  yet  unrealized,  as  an 
actual  possession.   This  process  orthodox  Christianity  calls 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  II  245 

Salvation  by  Faith;  or  rather,  this  is  the  vital  experience 
underlying  the  dogma  which  has  grown  up  under  that  name. 
Faith,  thus,  in  its  highest  and  moral  sense,  is  the  believing 
in  and  holding  on  to  an  ideal  of  life  against  all  the  tempta- 
tions and  foreshortening  illusions  of  the  senses.  Conversion 
is  the  soul's  initial  acceptance  of  that  life,  and  Faith  is  its 
retention  of  grasp  upon  it  when  the  push  of  lower  interests 
makes  it  seem  far  away  and  unreal. 

The  function  of  religion  is  then,  in  a  word,  to  create  in  men 
a  clean  heart  and  renew  a  right  spirit  within  them.  Chris- 
tianity is  the  greatest  of  the  religions  because  it  has  held  up 
the  highest  ideal  of  life  and  furnished  the  greatest  dynamic 
for  its  realization. 


PART   III 
PHILOSOPHICAL 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THEOLOGICAL   METHOD   AND   THE   SCIENTIFIC   SPIRIT 

So  far  in  our  study  we  have  been  content  for  the  most  part 
to  describe  the  facts  of  religious  experience  without  seeking 
to  draw  inferences  therefrom.  We  have  now  to  consider  the 
more  important  of  the  great  mass  of  theological  beliefs, 
whose  existence  is  due,  primarily,  to  the  attempt  to  relate 
and  explain  those  experiences.  And  first  we  must  glance,  in 
turn,  at  the  three  sharply  contrasting  methods  by  which  men 
have  constructed  and  justified  their  theologies:  the  interpre- 
tation and  elaboration  of  pronouncements  taken  as  unques- 
tionably authoritative,  the  manipulation  of  concepts  and 
derivation  from  them  of  a  'priori  truths  supposed  to  hold 
good  of  the  outer  world,  and  the  observation  of  facts  and 
formulation  of  inductive  generalizations  that  offer  shorthand 
descriptions  of  them. 

The  three  methods  of  theology 

/.  Authority.  Truth  may  be  hit  upon  in  many  ways  —  by 
intuition  or  clever  guessing,  by  accepting  the  statements  of 
others,  by  short  cuts  of  all  kinds.  But  these  are  also  ways  of 
acquiring  error,  and  are  not  of  guaranteed  trustworthiness. 
So  man  has  long  sought  some  certain  warrant  of  truth,  some 
reliable  method  upon  which  he  can  stake  his  belief  and  con- 
duct. The  earliest  method,  and  one  that  still  retains  the 
allegiance  of  a  large  proportion  of  religious  people,  is  that  of 
setting  up  some  book  or  human  voice  as  the  agent  of  a  divine 
revelation  and  therefore  of  indubitable  authority;  whatever 
can  be  deduced  from  these  supernaturally  warranted  pro- 


250  PHILOSOPHICAL 

nouncenients  may  be  held  with  an  assurance  to  which  men  can 
in  no  other  way  attain.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  proc- 
ess by  which  during  the  lapse  of  centuries  an  anthology  of 
Hebrew  writings,  and  later  of  early  Christian  writings,  came 
to  be  invested  with  a  peculiar  sanctity  and  authority;  and 
then  of  the  steps  by  which  the  Roman  Catholic  hierarchy 
came  to  arrogate  to  itself  the  right  to  interpret  those  sacred 
books  and  formulate  for  universal  acceptance  the  truths 
which  they  contained.  The  Church  assumed  to  guard  the 
deposit  of  faith  and  to  define  it  more  and  more  clearly  as 
questions  arose,  dubbing  all  new  ideas,  not  therein  con- 
tained, as  heretical  and  false.  But  actually  it  read  into  its 
oracles  much  that  could  not  by  an  impartial  exegesis  be 
found  therein,  and  developed  new  dogmas  according  to  the 
exigencies  of  its  situation.  So  successfully  did  the  Church 
maintain  its  position,  in  the  West,  that  the  pious  declared, 
with  St.  Augustine,  "I  should  not  believe  the  Gospel  if  the 
authority  of  the  Church  did  not  so  decide  me." 

We  cannot  do  better,  in  seeking  to  grasp  this  dogma  of  an 
infallible  Church,  than  to  quote  from  an  official  pronounce- 
ment. In  the  "Dogmatic  Constitution  of  the  Catholic 
Faith,"  adopted  by  the  Council  of  1870,  "The  Holy  Mother 
Church  holds  that  God  can  be  known  with  certainty  by  the 
natural  light  of  human  reason,  but  that  it  has  also  pleased 
Him  to  reveal  Himself  and  the  eternal  decrees  of  His  will  in  a 
supernatural  way.  This  supernatural  revelation,  as  declared 
by  the  Holy  Council  of  Trent,  is  contained  in  the  books  of 
the  Old  and  New  Testament.  .  .  .  These  have  God  for  their 
author,  and  as  such  have  been  delivered  to  the  Church.  And, 
in  order  to  restrain  restless  spirits,  who  may  give  erroneous 
explanations,  it  is  decreed  —  renewing  the  decision  of  the 
Council  of  Trent  —  that  no  one  may  interpret  the  sacred 
Scriptures  contrary  to  the  sense  in  which  they  are  inter- 
preted by  Holy  Mother  Church,  to  whom  such  interpreta- 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    251 

tion  belongs.  All  those  things  are  to  be  believed  which  are 
written  in  the  word  of  God,  or  handed  down  by  Tradition, 
which  the  Church  by  her  teaching  has  proposed  for  belief. 
No  one  can  be  justified  without  this  faith;  nor  shall  any  one, 
unless  he  persevere  therein  to  the  end,  attain  everlasting  life. 
Hence  God,  through  His  only-begotten  Son,  has  established 
the  Church  as  the  guardian  and  teacher  of  His  revealed  word. 
.  .  .  We  therefore  pronounce  false  every  assertion  which  is 
contrary  to  the  enlightened  truth  of  faith.  .  .  .  For  the  doc- 
trine of  faith  revealed  by  God  has  not  been  proposed,  like 
some  philosophical  discovery,  to  be  made  perfect  by  human 
ingenuity,  but  it  has  been  delivered  to  the  spouse  of  Christ 
as  a  divine  deposit,  to  be  faithfully  guarded  and  unerringly 
set  forth.  Hence,  all  tenets  of  holy  faith  are  to  be  explained 
always  according  to  the  sense  and  meaning  of  the  Church; 
nor  is  it  ever  lawful  to  depart  therefrom  under  pretense  or 
color  of  a  more  enlightened  explanation."  l 

Pleasant  and  soothing  as  this  doctrine  is,  the  "restless 
spirits"  that  the  Church  has  tried  to  drug  into  acquiescence 
would  not  be  so  restrained;  and  the  vast  majority  of  edu- 
cated men  the  world  over  have  become  convinced  that  the 
pretensions  of  the  Church  to  a  special  revelation  of  truth  are 
unwarranted.  One  has  but  to  look  at  the  beliefs  which  the 
Church  has  declared  true!  One  has  but  to  see  the  palpable 
errors  of  fact  in  the  Book  which  she  holds  up  as  infallible! 
For  example,  for  the  writers  of  the  Bible,  and  so  for  the 
Catholic  Church,  the  earth  was  a  flat  disk  about  which  the 
sun  revolved,  the  sky  a  dome,  with  openings  through  which 
the  rain  descended,  and  above  which  was  heaven,  where  God 
dwelt  and  whither  the  saved  arose  after  death.  The  naive 
account  in  Genesis  holds  to  this  primitive  view;  and  the 
story  of  the  Ascension  of  Christ,  in  the  opening  chapter  of 

1  For  an  eloquent  defense  of  this  position,  see  J.  H.  Newman's  Apologia 
pro  Vita  Mea. 


252  PHILOSOPHICAL 

Acts,  presupposes  it.  Every  one  knows  how  bitterly  the 
Church  antagonized  the  rival  Copernican  system,  how  Gali- 
leo was  tried  and  Bruno  burned.  This  is  one  of  the  most 
familiar  instances  of  the  naivete  and  falsity  of  the  suppos- 
edly supernatural  revelation  which  the  Church  has  proffered. 
But  there  is  scarcely  a  scientific  truth  of  importance  which 
has  not  contradicted  some  part  of  her  teaching  and  been 
opposed  in  the  name  of  her  "deposit  of  Divine  truth."  The 
facts  of  evolution  have  had  to  be  rejected  because  they  con- 
flict with  her  doctrine  of  the  Creation;  the  discoveries  of 
anthropology  and  archaeology  and  geology  concerning  the 
antiquity  of  the  earth  and  of  man  flatly  contradict  her 
chronology;  and  a  recognition  of  the  validity  of  historical 
criticism  is  incompatible  with  her  dogmas  as  to  the  author- 
ship and  dates  of  the  Bible  documents  —  dogmas  which,  in 
many  instances,  unprejudiced  historians  have  with  one  voice 
declared  absurd.  In  view  of  this  obviously  and  grossly  false 
nature  of  so  much  of  her  declared  "revelation,"  we  cannot 
base  our  theological  structure  upon  any  such  supposed  cer- 
tainties; we  must  find  some  other  avenue  to  truth. 

II.  A  priori  reasoning.  From  the  beginning  of  the 
Church's  life,  even  when  the  possession  of  a  supernatural 
source  of  revelation  was  unquestioned,  Christian  apologists 
sought  to  justify  their  beliefs  by  the  use  of  the  unaided  in- 
tellect; system  after  system  was  constructed  based  on  pure 
reason.  One  such  system  became  standardized  during  the 
Middle  Ages;  we  call  it  the  "Scholastic  Theology,"  and  find 
its  most  elaborate  expression  in  the  Summa  Theologice  of 
Thomas  Aquinas.  But  this  is  simply  the  system  which  the 
Catholic  Church  accepted.  Multitudes  of  equally  ingenious 
and  convincing  —  or  unconvincing  —  systems  have  been 
spun  out  of  the  brains  of  closet  philosophers;  the  attempt  to 
reach  theological  truth  through  the  use  of  the  mind's  inner 
resources,  its  logical  powers  and  innate  intuitions,  has  re- 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    253 

suited  in  such  diverse  world-views  as  those  of  Anselin,  Spi- 
noza, Leibnitz,  Kant,  Hegel,  Bradley,  and  Royce.  There  is  no 
need  of  refuting  any  of  these  systems  —  they  refute  one 
another.  Since  the  publication  of  Bacon's  Novum  Organums 
this  whole  method  of  seeking  truth  by  a  priori  reasoning  has 
become  more  and  more  discredited.  No  system  has  received 
widespread  recognition  —  except  that  which  was  favored  by 
the  official  support  of  the  Church.  No  results  from  this 
method  have  passed  into  our  common  knowledge. 

Particularly  from  British  and  American  thinkers  has  come 
the  refutation  of  the  claims  of  a  priori  reasoning  to  objective 
validity.  Locke,  in  his  famous  Essay  concerning  Human 
Understanding,1  pointed  out  that  "universal  propositions  of 
whose  truth  or  falsehood  we  can  have  certain  knowledge 
concern  not  existence.  .  .  .  These  universal  and  self-evident 
principles,  being  only  our  constant,  clear,  and  distinct  knowl- 
edge of  our  own  ideas  .  .  .  can  assure  us  of  nothing  that 
passes  without  the  mind.  .  .  .  That  any  or  what  bodies  do 
exist,  that  we  are  left  to  our  senses  to  discover  to  us  as  far  as 
they  can."  Mill  wrote,  in  his  Logic,2  "A  large  proportion  of 
the  erroneous  thinking  which  exists  in  the  world  proceeds  on 
a  tacit  assumption  that  the  same  order  must  obtain  among 
the  objects  in  nature  which  obtains  among  our  ideas  of 
them."  More  recently  we  have  Pearson  speaking  with  scorn 
of  the  method  "which  does  not  start  with  the  classification 
of  facts,  but  reaches  its  judgments  by  some  obscure  process 
of  internal  cogitation  .  .  .  and  results,  as  experience  shows 
us,  in  an  endless  number  of  competing  and  contradictory 
systems."  3  And  William  James  tells  us,4  "By  the  ancients, 
a  priori  propositions  were  considered,  without  further  ques- 

1  Bk.  iv,  chap,  vii,  sec.  14. 

2  Bk.  v,  chap.  in.  See  also  bk.  n,  chap,  v,  sec.  6;  and  chap,  vn,  sees.  1-4; 
Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton  s  Philosophy,  chaps.  VI  and  xxvm. 

1  K.  Pearson,  Grammar  of  Science,  chap.  I,  sec.  6. 
*  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  n,  p.  664. 


254  PHILOSOPHICAL 

tion,  to  reveal  the  constitution  of  Reality.  Archetypal 
things  existed,  it  was  assumed,  in  the  relations  in  which  we 
had  to  think  them.  The  mind's  necessities  were  a  warrant 
for  those  of  Being.  .  .  .  But  .  .  .  the  eternal  verities  which 
the  structure  of  our  mind  lays  hold  of  do  not  necessarily  lay 
hold  on  extra-mental  being;  nor  have  they,  as  Kant  pre- 
tended later,  a  legislating  character  even  for  all  possible  ex- 
perience. They  are  primarily  interesting  only  as  subjective 
facts." 

The  truth  is,  these  systems  are  far  more  a  result  of  uncon- 
scious assumption  and  mental  bias  than  of  logic.  One  after 
another  has  been  enthusiastically  worked  out,  only  to  have 
its  fallacies  exposed  and  be  rejected  by  other  thinkers.  But 
ever  new  systems  arise  to  replace  the  old.  Thus  to  argue 
against  dogmatic  theology  is  a  guerrilla  warfare;  every  posi- 
tion in  turn  is  taken,  but  the  enemy  forever  eludes  capture. 
It  would  require  a  library  to  hold  all  the  dogmatic  systems 
and  their  refutations;  and  were  all  to  have  their  inadequacies 
painstakingly  exposed,  new  systems  would  spring  up  to- 
morrow. Nor  can  any  counter-argument,  without  endlessly 
tedious  expansion,  be  made  so  complete  that  the  theologian 
cannot  find  some  gap  or  pick  some  verbal  flaw,  and  so,  by  dis- 
crediting the  refutation,  seem  to  reestablish  the  presumption 
in  favor  of  his  argument.  It  is  not  worth  while,  then,  except 
for  practice  in  analysis  and  exact  thinking,  to  bother  with 
picking  these  a  priori  systems  to  pieces.  Of  far  more  impor- 
tance is  it  to  point  out  the  proved  validity  of  another  method 
of  truth-seeking,  and  by  stimulating  a  loyalty  to  that  scien- 
tific method,  to  overcome  evil  with  good. 

7/7.  The  scientific  method.  The  spirit  of  all  true  science 
can  be  epitomized  by  the  Biblical  summons,  "Come  and 
see!"  It  never  seeks  to  impose  antecedent  conceptions;  it 
lets  things  "tell  their  tale  in  their  own  way."  Absolutely 
faithful  to  observed  facts,  letting  them  suggest  their  own 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT  255 

laws,  describing  them  impartially,  as  they  are,  and  never 
picking  out  or  emphasizing  those  particular  facts  which  bol- 
ster a  desired  conclusion,  distrusting  all  authority  which 
observable  facts  do  not  corroborate,  not  seeking  first  to  con- 
struct a  system  and  then  looking  for  evidence  to  support  it, 
but  following  with  a  delicate  responsiveness  the  leading  of 
the  evidence,  and  abiding  by  its  dictates  —  such  is  the  tem- 
per by  which  science  is  slowly  conquering  human  ignorance. 
There  is  but  one  way  to  learn  what  are  the  facts  in  any  de- 
partment of  human  life.  A  priori  assumptions  cannot  ascer- 
tain them,  pious  aspiration  cannot  mould  them  according 
to  its  desire,  postulates  imperiously  demanding  that  the  uni- 
verse conform  to  our  needs  or  cravings  cannot  produce  them. 
Only  by  studying  experience  concretely,  observing  it  with 
painstaking  exactness,  freeing  ourselves  from  bias,  from  pre- 
conceived opinions  and  wishes  in  the  matter,  and  making 
with  due  caution  generalizations  that  shall  include  all  the 
observed  facts  and  contradict  none,  can  we  be  sure  that  we 
have  what  is  really  knowledge  and  not  mere  speculation. 
This  is  the  scientific  method;  and  the  keeping  to  it  is  the 
scientific  spirit.1 

1  Cf.  Boutroux  (Eng.  tr.),  P-  352:  "The  special  mark  of  the  scientific 
spirit  is  shown  in  unwillingness  to  admit  any  starting-point  for  research, 
any  source  of  knowledge,  other  than  experience."  Pearson,  chap.  I.:  "The 
classification  of  facts  and  the  formation  of  absolute  judgments  upon  the 
basis  of  this  classification  —  judgments  independent  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of 
the  individual  mind  —  essentially  sum  up  the  aim  and  method  of  modern 
science.  .  .  .  The  classification  of  facts,  the  recognition  of  their  sequence  and 
relative  significance,  is  the  function  of  science;  and  the  habit  of  forming  a 
judgment  upon  these  facts  unbiassed  by  personal  feeling  is  characteristic  of 
what  may  be  termed  the  scientific  frame  of  mind."  Wenley,  p.  59:  "Free, 
with  complete  freedom  to  inquire  into  anything,  man  is  as  completely 
bound  —  bound  to  abide  by  discernible  testimony.  Of  such  is  the  spirit  of 
science."  G.  B.  Foster,  Finality  of  the  Christian  Religion,  p.  190:  "The  new 
method  may  be  expressed  in  one  word:  observation.  Formerly  science  was 
a  captive  of  dogma;  now  it  is  a  captive  of  nature.  .  .  .  Formerly  one  sub- 
jected reality  to  the  categories  of  the  understanding;  now  one  subjects  the 
understanding  in  sovereign  obedience  to  facts.    Formerly  one  said  things 


256  PHILOSOPHICAL 

Not  all  students  of  science  actually  follow  this  ideal  of 
open-mindedness  and  impartial  recording  of  the  evidence. 
But  such  is  the  recognized  ideal  of  science,  such  is  the  way 
in  which  it  has  won  its  successes;  where  it  is  not  earnestly 
espoused  there  is  no  possibility,  except  by  mere  chance,  of 
arriving  at  truth.  Scientists  make  mistakes,  observe  inaccu- 
rately, generalize  incautiously;  scientific  books  are  not  al- 
ways free  from  prejudice  and  passion.  But  the  essence  of 
science  lies  in  this,  that  its  calculations  are  always  open  to 
correction,  its  inferences  are  open  and  above  board;  if  the 
evidence  does  not  warrant  them,  that  fact  will  soon  become 
clear.  Science  is  not  a  fixed  doctrine,  it  is  a  spirit;  and  in  this 
spirit  lies  man's  hope  for  knowledge.  In  those  fields  where 
the  emotions  and  loyalties  least  enter  in,  science  has  won 
general  allegiance;  only  the  hopelessly  ignorant  set  up  their 
superstitions  against  the  authority  of  the  latest  textbooks  of 
astronomy  or  physics.  But  it  is  as  yet  sadly  different  with 
philosophy,  politics,  and  religion.  Books  widely  read  and 
applauded  do  little  more  than  "confuse  problems  and  cari- 
cature investigation."  With  much  brilliant  and  eloquent 
writing  on  these  matters,  there  is  still  little  that  is  scrupu- 
lously cautious,  clings  to  observable  facts,  and  is  actuated 
by  a  truly  scientific  spirit.  Yet  to  a  scientific  study  of  these 
most  vital  of  matters  we  must  come,  even  if  it  mean  the 
relinquishment  of  former  assurances  and  the  recognition  of 
the  narrow  limits  of  our  knowledge.  We  must  be  willing  to 
give  up  "sweet  comforts  false,  worse  than  true  wrongs," 
throw  overboard  our  most  obstinate  convictions,  subject  the 

must  be  so,  therefore  they  are  so;  now  one  says  things  are  what  they  are, 
and  one  looks  at  them  and  into  them  to  see  what  they  are."  And  Seeley, 
p.  9:  "The  scientific  spirit  is  simply  a  jealous  watchfulness  against  that  ten- 
dency of  human  nature  to  read  itself  into  the  Universe,  which  is  both  natu- 
ral to  each  individual  and  may  mislead  the  greatest  investigators,  and  which 
can  only  be  controlled  by  rigorously  adhering  to  a  fixed  process,  and  rigidly 
verifying  the  work  of  others  by  the  same." 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    257 

facts  of  the  religious  life  to  the  same  critical  scrutiny  that  we 
should  give  to  astronomical  phenomena,  and  build  our  theol- 
ogy upon  a  strictly  empirical  basis.  Only  so  shall  we  find  it 
built  upon  a  rock,  and  able  to  survive  the  doubts  and  ques- 
tionings of  an  increasingly  scientific  age.  We  shall  have  less 
truth  for  a  while  than  we  thought  we  had;  but  in  the  end  we 
shall  have  more,  and  what  we  have  will  be  as  universally  ac- 
knowledged and  believed  as  the  conclusions  of  the  physical 
sciences.  The  use  of  unscientific  methods  only  discredits 
theology  and  postpones,  by  putting  us  on  the  wrong  track, 
the  attainment  of  actual  knowledge. 

Fortunately  the  last  few  decades  have  witnessed  a  note- 
worthy change  of  attitude  on  the  part  of  the  younger  theo- 
logians; and  the  time  seems  not  far  distant  when  a  scientific 
theology  —  or  philosophy  of  religion,  to  use  the  newer  term 
—  may  actually  take  its  accredited  place  among  the  sciences. 
Huxley  wrote,  a  generation  or  more  ago,  "The  greatest  intel- 
lectual revolution  man  has  yet  seen  is  slowly  taking  place  by 
the  aid  of  science.  She  is  teaching  the  world  that  the  ulti- 
mate court  of  appeal  is  observation  and  experience,  and  not 
authority;  she  is  teaching  it  to  estimate  the  value  of  evi- 
dence." x  x\nd  in  the  opening  years  of  the  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury we  find  books  on  religion  laying  down  such  principles  as 
these :  "  I  have  urged  that  there  is  only  one  method  of  knowl- 
edge, that  of  experience  and  legitimate  inference  from  experi- 
ence. And  while  freely  admitting,  and  even  insisting  upon, 
the  importance  of  every  kind  of  experience  as  material  for 
analysis  and  discussion,  I  have  argued  that  any  truth  that  is 
to  be  elicited  from  such  experience  must  be  elicited  by  the 
method  of  science,  in  the  broad  and  proper  sense  of  the 
term."  2 

1  Lay  Sermons:  "On  the  Study  of  Zoology." 

2  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Religion,  A  Criticism  am!  a  Forecast,  opening  para- 
graph.   First  published  in  1003-04.    As  long  ago  as   1875,  Seeley  wrote 


258  PHILOSOPHICAL 

It  is  a  sign  of  our  growing  mental  maturity  that  we  are  at 
last  learning  to  ask  for  the  evidence  of  whatever  we  are  bade 
believe  —  for  verification  of  religious  truth  as  clear  as  that 
which  we  should  be  given  for  the  laws  of  astronomy  or  biol- 
ogy. There  is  in  certain  quarters  a  profound  distrust  of  this 
spirit;  it  is  felt  to  be  subversive  of  the  faith,  the  sign  of  an 
unbelieving  and  materialistic  generation.  But  if  there  is  no 
proper  evidence  for  our  beliefs,  we  wish  to  know  it;  while  if 
our  theology  is  true  and  well-founded,  it  can  stand  the  test 
of  doubt.  The  intrusion  of  the  scientific  spirit  into  the  study 
of  religion  is  a  matter  for  congratulation ;  it  has  been  the  goal 
of  much  patient  labor  and  earnest  pleading  on  the  part  of  the 
intellectual  leaders  of  the  race,  as  the  absence  of  that  spirit 
has  been  one  of  the  greatest  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  at- 
tainment of  truth.  With  the  general  acceptance  by  the 
Church  of  scientific  methods  and  the  scientific  spirit  we  may 
expect  a  new  era  in  religious  thought.1 

The  opposition  of  the  Church  to  the  scientific  spirit 

Religion  and  art  and  material  progress  long  antedate  sci- 
ence; it  was  not  until  the  classic  period  of  Greek  history  —  at 
least  so  far  as  extant  records  show  —  that  any  portion  of  the 
human  race  emerged  from  the  superstitious  and  magical 
view  of  Nature  into  a  truly  empirical  study  of  her  processes. 

(Natural  Religion,  p.  7):  "In  theology,  metaphysics,  moral  and  political 
philosophy,  history,  the  principle  of  authority  has  reigned  hitherto  with 
more  or  less  exclusiveness,  and  the  repudiation  of  it  makes  a  revolution  in 
those  departments  of  knowledge.  .  .  .  The  important  change  is  in  the  exten- 
sion of  the  methods  of  physical  science  to  the  whole  domain  of  knowledge. 
While  one  part  of  the  '  wisdom  of  the  world'  has  been  discredited  as  resting 
solely  on  authority,  another  large  division  of  it  is  now  rejected  as  resting  on 
insufficient  induction,  and  another  as  resting  on  groundless  assumptions, 
disguised  under  the  name  of  necessary  truths,  truths  of  the  reason,  truths 
given  in  consciousness,  etc."  Scientists,  of  course,  have  been  urging  this 
for  a  century  or  two. 

1  The  possibility  of  swprr-scientific  methods  of  attaining  truth  will  be 
discussed  on  pp.  337-41,  361-64,  and  406-09. 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    259 

A  natural  science  and  philosophy  was  rapidly  developed; 
and  for  a  brief  brilliant  period  there  might  have  been  a  hope 
that  human  enlightenment  would  anticipate  its  actual  devel- 
opment by  twenty  centuries.  But  the  Greek  thinkers  were  a 
small  band,  soon  overwhelmed  by  political  cataclysms;  their 
science  disappeared  under  a  flood  of  supernatural  explana- 
tions and  superstitions.  In  Rome,  though  she  absorbed 
much  of  the  Greek  culture,  natural  science  never  became 
firmly  established  upon  a  solid  footing;  and  the  torrent  of 
Christianity  that  swept  over  the  decaying  empire  carried 
away  what  rudiments  existed.  So  was  lost  man's  first  great 
opportunity  of  understanding  and  mastering  the  world  in 
which  he  lives;  such  was  the  price  he  paid  for  that  renewal  of 
moral  earnestness  and  deepening  of  his  spiritual  life  that  the 
new  religion  brought. 

Christianity,  though  it  was  "foolishness  to  the  Greeks," 
and  a  silly  fable  to  the  wise,1 — a  fiapfiapov  80'7/ia, —  spread 
among  the  masses  of  ignorant  and  downtrodden,  because 
of  the  glorious  message  of  hope  and  of  brotherhood  which 
it  brought;  spread  not,  of  course,  through  any  evidence  of 
the  truth  of  its  doctrines  —  for  who  stopped  to  examine 
the  historic  testimony  by  which  it  was  supported  ?  —  but 
through  its  instant  and  powerful  appeal  to  the  heart. 
When,  during  the  later  Roman  times,  this  religion  of  the 
masses  became  politically  dominant,  there  was  no  natural 
science  and  no  scientific  spirit  even  among  the  upper  classes 
to  dispute  its  rapidly  crystallizing  dogmas.  Men  of  acumen, 
lacking  a  solid  foundation  of  knowledge,  or  any  criterion  of 
evidence,  devoted  their  intellects  to  elaborating  the  new 
dogmas  and  interpreting  in  philosophical  terms  the  super- 
natural faith  they  had  received.  All  independent  thinking 
was  dubbed  heresy  by  the  Church,  violently  denounced  and 

1  "Not  many  men  wise  after  the  flesh  [i.e.,  according  to  the  usual  stand- 
ards of  rating]  are  called."   1  Cor.  1 :  18-26. 


260  PHILOSOPHICAL 

ruthlessly  stamped  out;  no  thought  was  allowed  but  that 
which  defended  the  Church  doctrines.  The  pagan  systems 
were  regarded  as  impious;  Hypatia,  distinguished  lecturer  on 
philosophy,  was  murdered  by  a  mob  of  monks  in  441;  the 
great  schools  of  Athens  were  closed  by  order  of  the  Christian 
Emperor  Justinian,  in  529. l  There  followed  the  long  slumber 
of  the  Dark  Ages,  wherein  the  intellect,  having  no  free  play, 
was  the  bounden  slave  of  dogma. 

But  the  restless  spirit  of  man  could  not  forever  be  bound 
by  these  chains.  We  have  noted  how  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury a  widespread  revolt  occurred  against  ecclesiastical  tyr- 
anny and  corruption,  and  the  Northern  nations  especially 
began  to  seek  an  altered  basis  for  their  religion.  Abandoning 
ecclesiastical  authority,  they  retained  the  authority  of  the 
Scriptures,  which  offered  as  safe  a  haven  to  the  spirit  as  the 
authority  of  Church  and  Council,  but  allowed  far  greater 
opportunity  for  individual  interpretation  and  construction. 
The  classic  Greek  texts  had  already  been  reintroduced  into 
Europe,  where  they  had  been  almost  forgotten,  through  the 
Mohammedan  Arabs;  and  men  again  began  to  think  for 
themselves.  Slowly  they  ventured  on  the  study  of  Nature, 
on  invention,  on  exploration.  The  newly  invented  printing 
press  spread  the  news  of  discoveries  and  theories,  and  once 
more  enlightenment  began  to  go  forward. 

Bitterly  did  the  Church  oppose  every  step  of  this  progress. 
The  newly  won  knowledge  conflicted  with  some  of  her  doc- 
trines, the  spirit  of  free  inquiry  menaced  her  whole  system. 
Even  the  Reformers  could  not  shake  off  the  shackles  of  the 
old  idea  of  authority.   Luther  wrote:  "People  give  ear  to  an 

1  "The  public  manifested  such  indifference  toward  these  ruins  of  the 
past,  that  the  edict  was  scarcely  noticed.  Christianity  had  taken  possession 
of  the  Empire  two  centuries  ago;  the  concrete  and  thrilling  questions  of  reli- 
gion, and  the  troubles  caused  by  the  invasions  of  the  barbarians,  superseded 
the  serene  and  peaceful  dtupla."  A.  Weber,  History  of  Philosophy  (Eng.  tr.), 
p.  184. 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    261 

upstart  astrologer  who  strives  to  show  that  the  earth  re- 
volves, not  the  heavens  or  the  firmament,  the  sun  and  the 
moon.   Whoever  wishes  to  appear  clever  must  devise  some 
new  system,  which  of  all  systems  is,  of  course,  the  best  way! 
This  fool  wishes  to  reverse  the  entire  science  of  astronomy. 
But  sacred  Scripture  tells  us  that  Joshua  commanded  the 
sun  to  stand  still,  and  not  the  earth."    And  similarly  the 
scholarly  Melancthon :  "Certain  men,  either  from  the  love 
of  novelty  or  to  make  a  display  of  ingenuity,  have  concluded 
that  the  earth  moves.    Now  it  is  want  of  honesty  and  de- 
cency to  assert  such  notions  publicly,  and  the  example  is 
pernicious.   It  is  the  part  of  a  good  mind  to  accept  the  truth 
as  revealed  by  God  and  to  acquiesce  in  it.  The  earth  can  be 
nowhere  except  in  the  center  of  the  universe."  1  Bruno  was 
burned  at  the  stake  by  Catholics,  Servetus  by  Protestant 
Calvin;  Galileo,  under  pain  of  death,  was  forced  to  retrac- 
tion.   "But  the  world  does  move!"  he  is  said  to  have  mut- 
tered as  he  left  the  trial  chamber.  Aye,  verily,  the  world  does 
move,  and  no  power  of  authority  or  tradition  or  of  persecu- 
tion could  stop  it! 

It  would  take  too  long  even  to  summarize  here  the  process 
by  which,  step  by  step,  the  new  knowledge  won  its  way 
against  the  Church.  The  story  has  been  excellently  told  in 
Andrew  D.  White's  History  of  the  Warfare  between  Science 
and  Theology  in  Christendom.  One  by  one  the  conceptions  of 
traditional  Christian  theology  which  deal  with  the  history 
and  nature  of  this  world  have  yielded  to  the  scientific  ideas; 
many  of  the  Protestant  churches  have  revised  or  dropped 
their  creeds,  and  kept  pace  in  considerable  measure  with  the 
new  conceptions;  all  of  them,  and  the  Catholic  Church  as 
well,  have  been  compelled  in  some  degree  to  rephrase  and 
reinterpret  them.  But  every  inch  of  the  way  has  been  fought; 
a  huge  mass  of  literature  has  been  evolved  in  the  ever- 
1  Both  quoted  by  Foster,  op.  cii.,  pp.  162-63. 


262  PHILOSOPHICAL 

repeated  attempts  to  square  the  creeds  with  the  advance  of 
knowledge,  and  the  greater  part  of  modern  philosophy  has 
concerned  itself  with  the  reexpressing  of  inherited  beliefs 
in  forms  less  and  less  obviously  inconsonant  therewith. 
Stamped  and  creased  with  these  traditional  forms  of  thought, 
philosophy  has  not  been  able,  to  any  great  extent,  to  become 
purely  scientific,  or  to  show  the  free  spontaneity  of  the 
Greeks;  and  some  of  the  sciences  have  been  seriously  ham- 
pered by  the  theological  prepossessions  of  so  many  of  their 
devotees.  But  science  has  grown,  through  the  sheer  force  of 
truth,  and  through  the  practical  usefulness  of  her  discov- 
eries. Scientific  knowledge  has  become  widely  diffused;  and 
the  Church,  in  contending  against  it,  has  lost  the  allegiance 
of  large  numbers  of  her  sons. 

The  battle  has  been  a  losing  one  for  the  Church,  a  gradual 
retreat  from  vantage-point  to  vantage-point,  a  steady  re- 
cession of  once  assured  dogma  and  concession  to  scientific 
knowledge.  Stumbling  and  slipping,  grasping  at  this  crevice 
and  that  ledge,  but  sliding  surely  down,  once  it  left  the  secure 
rock  of  an  unquestioned  authority,  theology  is  coming  to 
earth,  abandoning  its  pretensions  to  a  special  avenue  to  truth, 
and  becoming  absorbed  in  such  scientific  studies  as  the  psy- 
chology of  religion  and  the  history  of  religions.  Meanwhile 
everything  is  confusion.  Scientific  knowledge  has  become 
widely  diffused;  but  the  scientific  spirit,  which  won  that 
knowledge  and  which  has  much  yet  to  win  out  of  the  un- 
known for  man,  finds  common  comprehension  and  acceptance 
much  more  slowly.  Facts  that  scholars  everywhere  proclaim 
become  before  long  the  public  possession;  but  the  spirit  of  im- 
partial observation  and  generalization  through  which  those 
facts  were  patiently  wrested  from  the  chaos  of  experience  is 
as  yet  but  the  possession  of  the  few.  Protestant  churches 
pretty  generally  accept  the  results  of  science,  but  not  so 
generally  her  method.  But  not  till  Christianity  openly  wel- 


THEOLOGICAL  METHOD  AND  THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT    263 

comes  this  spirit  of  free  criticism  and  inquiry,  and  seeks  to 
base  her  beliefs  on  as  solid  grounds  of  experience  as  anything 
else  that  we  call  knowledge,  can  she  put  an  end  to  the  long, 
unhappy,  shameful  conflict  between  religion  and  science.  It 
is  not  enough  to  make  timid  expurgations  and  leave  un- 
remedied the  fundamental  mistake.  Once  the  secure  basis 
of  revealed  authority  is  abandoned,  there  is  no  intermediate 
resting  place  for  thought  until  it  rests  on  the  authority 
of  scientific  knowledge. 

A.  D.  White,  History  of  the  Warfare  between  Science  and  Theology. 
J.  W.  Draper,  History  of  the  Conflict  between  Religion  and  Science. 
J.  B.  Bury,  History  of  Freedom  of  Thought.  W.  N.  Rice,  Christian 
Faith  in  an  Age  of  Science,  pt.  i.  A.  Sabatier,  Religions  of  Authority 
and  the  Religion  of  the  Spirit.  R.  M.  Wenley,  Modern  Thought  and 
the  Crisis  in  Belief,  n.  W.  F.  Adeney,  A  Century's  Progress,  chap, 
iv.  G.  B.  Foster,  Finality  of  the  Christian  Religion,  chap.  v.  J.  T. 
Shotwell,  Religious  Revolution  of  Today.  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Reli- 
gion, A  Criticism  and.  Forecast,  chap.  n.  J.  R.  Seeley,  Natural  Reli- 
gion, pt.  i,  chap.  i.  K.  Pearson,  Grammar  of  Science,  chap.  i.  T.  H. 
Huxley,  Science  and  Hebrew  Tradition,  chap.  I.  G.  Forester,  Faith 
of  an  Ag?wstic,  chaps,  ii-iii.  E.  Boutroux,  Science  and  Religion  in 
Contemporary  Philosophy,  "Conclusion."  Harvard  Theological 
Review,  vol.  7,  p.  1.  New  World,  vol.  9,  p.  285.  Biblical  World,  vol. 
43,  p.  178. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  BIBLE 

The  Christian  Bible  consists  of  the  sacred  books  of  the 
Jews,  together  with  certain  narratives  and  letters  and  a 
fragment  of  apocalyptic  literature  dating  from  the  early 
Christian  era.  All  these  documents  were  slowly  sifted  out  of 
a  much  larger  mass  of  similar  literature,  the  collection  reach- 
ing that  definite  limit  which  it  has  since  maintained  in  the 
fifth  century  A.D.  A  heterogeneous  corpus  as  it  is  of  divers 
sorts  of  writings,  by  men  of  many  different  beliefs  and  con- 
victions, accumulated  during  ten  centuries  of  marked  reli- 
gious transition,1  an  unbiased  mind  would  certainly  never 
suspect  it  of  being  a  book  of  supernatural  origin  or  author- 
ity. It  is  true  that  the  Hebrew  prophets,  like  the  prophets 
of  other  religions,  believed  themselves  inspired  of  God  in 
their  utterances,  and  used,  fearlessly  and  freely,  the  formula, 
"Thus  saith  Jehovah,"  when  they  expressed  their  burning 
convictions  of  right  and  wrong.  But  even  those  of  their 
contemporaries  who  believed  them  to  be  inspired  of  God 
were  free  to  criticize  their  specific  pronouncements.  The 
Old  Testament  historians,  in  compiling  their  chronicles,  re- 
ferred now  and  then  to  earlier  and  well-known  books  as 
authority  for  their  statements,2  as  they  would  hardly  have 
done  if  they  had  expected  their  accounts  to  be  taken  on 
Divine  authority.  The  author  of  Luke,  in  prefacing  his 
work,  claims  attention  only  as  a  painstaking  historian,  not 

1  The  J  document  of  the  Hexateuch  was  written  about  850  B.C.,  and  the 
latest  books  of  the  New  Testament  about  130  a.d. 

2  See,  e.g.,  Joshua  10:  12  ff;  Num.  21:14.  Sixteen  books,  now  lost,  are 
thus  alluded  to  in  the  Old  Testament. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  BIBLE  265 

as  a  vehicle  of  supernatural  inspiration.  And  certainly  Paul 
would  have  been  bewildered  to  find  his  hasty  and  occasional 
letters  taken  by  pious  Christians  as  the  very  Word  of  God! 

How  did  the  conception  develop  of  the  inerrancy  of  the 
Bible? 
It  is  not  difficult  to  trace  the  historic  process  by  which 
these  particular  Jewish  and  Christian  writings  came  to  be 
set  apart  as  having  special  authority,  and  finally  as  essen- 
tially different  from  all  other  books.  The  first  document  to 
be  thus  regarded  was  the  Book  of  Deuteronomy,  which,  in 
its  original  and  briefer  form,  was  published  under  peculiar 
circumstances  during  the  reign  of  Josiah,  about  621  B.C.1 
Written  actually  not  long  before,  it  purported  to  come  from 
the  ancient  lawgiver  Moses,  and  as  such  was  accepted  by 
the  king  and  the  pious  among  the  people,  and  declared  the 
religious  law  of  the  land.  In  444  B.C.,  after  the  return  of  a 
remnant  of  the  faithful  from  the  exile,  Ezra  promulgated  the 
so-called  Priestly  code,  which  was  also  accepted  as  Mosaic. 
About  this  nucleus  other  books  gradually  gathered:  the 
words  of  the  great  prophets  of  an  earlier  time,  chronicles  of 
the  former  golden  age  of  Hebrew  history,  religious  hymns, 
tales,  and  proverbs.  Slowly  the  idea  of  a  canon,  or  authorita- 
tive collection,  was  evolved.  What  books  should  be  included 
therein  was  for  long  uncertain;  the  pious  hesitated,  for  ex- 
ample, over  the  Song  of  Songs  and  Ecclesiastes,  ultimately 
admitting  them  because  of  their  reputed  Solomonic  author- 
ship. Collections  varying  from  a  score  or  so  to  over  four 
score  books  were  made.  But  formal  and  second-hand  as  the 
Jewish  religion  had  largely  become,  the  need  was  strongly 
felt  of  an  authoritative  code  to  which  to  cling;  and  by  the 
time  of  Christ  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  had  attained  practi- 
cally the  limits  which  have  since  been  retained,  though  cer- 

»  See  2  Kings  22  and  23. 


266  PHILOSOPHICAL 

tain  books  were  still  hotly  disputed,  and  the  canon  was  not 
definitely  fixed  for  another  century. 

The  early  Christians,  convinced  that  a  New  Dispensation 1 
was  at  hand,  and  eager  to  share  and  deepen  their  new  con- 
victions, began  to  read  at  their  meetings  the  accounts  of 
Jesus'  life  and  some  of  the  letters  of  his  apostles  which  best 
conveyed  the  new  gospel.  At  first  many  books  were  read 
and  cherished  which  have  since  been  discarded  - —  such  writ- 
ings as  the  Epistle  of  Barnabas,  the  Epistle  of  Clement,  and 
the  Shepard  of  Hermas  being  ranked  with  the  letters  of  Paul. 
Luke  tells  us  that  many  Gospels  were  in  existence  in  his  day; 
fragments  of  a  number  of  these  have  been  found.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  number  of  the  books  which  were  eventually 
included  in  the  Christian  collection  were  for  long  regarded 
with  little  favor  by  many  of  the  churches;  Hebrews,  James, 
Jude,  2  Peter,  2  and  3  John,  and  Revelation  were  especially 
the  subject  of  debate.  Finally,  however,  by  chance  or  cir- 
cumstance, the  canon  came  to  include  those  books  which 
now  form  our  New  Testament,  and  to  reject  all  others;  an 
ecclesiastical  decree  of  495  a.d.  settled  the  last  open  ques- 
tions, and  the  intellectual  torpor  of  the  Middle  Ages  put  an 
end  to  controversy  and  change. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  gradual  determination  of  the 
canon  there  developed  a  greater  and  greater  reverence  for 
these  new  sacred  books.  At  first  the  Gospels  were  quoted 
simply  as  memoirs,  and  their  statements  justified  by  quota- 
tions from  the  Old  Testament.  But  as  the  age  of  Jesus  and 
the  apostles  faded  farther  and  farther  into  the  past,  the  sur- 
viving literature  that  contained  their  teaching  grew  more 
and  more  precious;  and  these  writings,  far  more  important 
to  the  Church  than  the  old  Jewish  Scriptures,  came  to  be 
ranked  as  equally  inspired.   The  name  Bible  —  /3i{3\ia,  the 

1  Hence  the  title  New  Testament  —  testamentum,  diaOrficT],  meaning 
"dispensation"  or  "covenant." 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  BIBLE  267 

Books  —  dates  from  the  fourth  century,  and  marks  the  defi- 
nite fusion  of  these  two  sacred  anthologies.  For  a  long  time 
the  Bible  books  were  freely  criticized.  St.  Jerome  exercised 
his  individual  judgment  in  accepting  or  rejecting.  Luther 
called  the  Book  of  James  "a  veritable  epistle  of  straw,"  and 
said  of  the  Old  Testament  that  we  sometimes  find  in  it 
"wood,  hay,  and  stubble,  and  not  always  gold,  silver,  or 
diamonds."  But  free  criticism  means  divergence  in  belief. 
And  the  Church,  in  its  struggle  to  maintain  a  standard  of 
orthodoxy,  gradually  came  to  that  insistence  on  the  absolute 
truth  of  every  word  of  her  sacred  books  which  for  so  long 
dominated  the  minds  of  men  —  a  conception  vehemently 
preached  even  to-day,  and  holding  its  own  here  and  there 
even  in  the  face  of  the  general  diffusion  of  historical  and 
scientific  knowledge.1 

What  facts  have  altered  our  conception  of  the  Bible? 

The  word  "criticism"  (from  Kpivelv,  to  judge)  does  not 
properly  imply  caviling  or  fault-finding;  it  means  judgment, 
discernment,  comprehension.  Biblical  criticism,  which  had 
its  beginning,  perhaps,  in  Spinoza's  Traciatus  Theologico- 
Politicus,  and  has  had  a  marvelous  development  in  the  past 
century,  is  simply  an  open-minded  attempt  to  understand 
the  various  documents  that  make  up  the  Bible,  their  dates, 
authorship,  purpose,  and  meaning.  Our  increasing  knowl- 
edge of  nature,  of  history,  of  psychology,  and  of  comparative 
religion,  the  reconstruction  of  more  accurate  texts  through 
the  discovery  of  new  manuscripts  and  the  patiently  minute 

1  Cf.  this  passage  from  a  sermon  preached  as  late  as  1861  at  Oxford  Uni- 
versity, by  Dean  Burgon:  "The  Bible  is  none  other  than  the  voice  of  Him 
that  sitteth  upon  the  throne.  Every  book  of  it,  every  chapter  of  it,  every 
verse  of  it,  every  syllable  of  it  (where  are  we  to  stop?),  every  letter  of  it,  is 
the  direct  utterance  of  the  Most  High.  The  Bible  is  none  other  than  the 
Word  of  God  —  not  some  part  of  it  more,  some  part  of  it  less,  but  all  alike 
the  utterance  of  Him  who  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  faultless,  unerring, 
supreme." 


268  PHILOSOPHICAL 

comparison  of  the  thousands  now  available,  the  study  of 
contemporary  inscriptions  and  remains,  of  the  development 
of  the  Hebrew  and  Greek  languages  and  the  precise  mean- 
ings of  their  words,  and  the  growth  of  a  maturer  historical 
method,  that  knows  how  to  read  between  the  lines  of  a  nar- 
rative and  discriminate  trustworthy  from  unreliable  materi- 
als —  these  manifold  new  resources  have  brought  us  to  a 
far  more  intelligent  appreciation  of  this  mass  of  Jewish  and 
Christian  writings.  Differences  of  opinion  on  many  points 
still  exist;  and  there  are  many  things  which  we  should  like  to 
know  that  must  forever  remain  beyond  reach  of  our  investi- 
gation. But  the  general  conclusions  of  modern  scholarship 
with  regard  to  the  Bible  "cannot  be  denied  without  denying 
the  ordinary  principles  by  which  history  is  judged  and  evi- 
dence estimated.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  the  same  con- 
clusions, upon  any  neutral  field  of  investigation,  would  have 
been  accepted  without  hesitation  by  all  conversant  with  the 
subject."  l 

(1)  It  has,  for  one  thing,  been  definitely  proved  that  the 
traditional  ascriptions  of  authorship  of  many  of  the  Bible 
books  are  mistaken.  The  Pentateuch,  for  example,  was  not 
written  till  centuries  after  the  time  of  Moses  —  as  on  the 
surface  would  seem  probable  from  the  fact  that  kings  of 
Israel  are  mentioned  therein,  not  to  speak  of  the  description 
of  Moses'  own  death!  These  books  have  been  proved  to  be 
compilations  dating  from  the  period  of  the  exile,  incorpo- 
rating two  parallel  narratives  of  the  eighth  and  ninth  cen- 
tury, together  with  considerable  later  material;  the  parallel 
strands  run  side  by  side  through  a  large  part  of  them,  and  the 
compiler  has  not  always  well  reconciled  the  divergent  ac- 
counts. Again,  few,  if  any,  of  the  Psalms  were  written  by 
David;  most  of  them  are  post-exilic.    Neither  Ecclesiastes 

1  Canon  Driver,  Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament,  Preface.    A  good  book 
to  study  in  this  connection  is  H.  B.  George's  Historical  Evidence. 


THE   INTERPRETATION  OF  THE   BIBLE  269 

nor  the  Song  of  Solomon  was  written  by  Solomon.  The 
greater  part  of  the  Book  of  Isaiah  comes  from  a  much  later 
time.  The  probabilities  are  strongly  against  the  authorship 
of  the  Gospels  —  with  the  exception  of  the  Second  Gospel 
—  by  the  men  whose  names  they  bear.  Some  of  the  sup- 
posed epistles  of  Paul  are  certainly  not  from  his  hand,1  James 
is  not  by  its  reputed  author,  and  2  Peter  is  a  barefaced  forg- 
ery. The  Book  of  Revelation  is  a  medley  of  apocalyptic  lit- 
erature, some  of  it  pre-Christian,  none  of  it  by  the  author  of 
the  Fourth  Gospel.  These  commonplaces  of  Biblical  scholar- 
ship can  be  substantiated  by  a  study  of  any  of  the  good 
recent  introductions  to  Old  and  New  Testament.2 

(2)  But  other  facts  have  been  brought  to  light  much  more 
significantly  at  variance  with  the  old  conceptions  of  the  Bible. 
For  one  thing,  many  inconsistencies  exist  between  different 
traditions  that  have  both  been  incorporated.  When  one 
verse  flatly  contradicts  another,  it  is  only  by  a  difficult  eva- 
sion that  the  believer  can  preserve  his  devout  belief  in  the 
truth  of  both.  For  instance  —  to  mention  but  a  few  —  in 
Acts  9:7,  speaking  of  Paul's  vision,  we  read,  "And  the  men 
who  journeyed  with  him  stood  speechless,  hearing  a  voice,  but 
seeing  no  man,"  while  in  Acts  22:  9,  which  narrates  the  same 
experience,  we  read,  "And  they  that  were  with  me  saw  in- 
deed the  light,  and  were  not  afraid;  but  they  heard  not  the 
voice  of  him  that  spake  to  me."  Again,  the  first  three  Gospels 
make  Christ  eat  the  Last  Supper  on  the  eve  of  the  Passover, 
and  die  on  that  day,  while  the  Fourth  Gospel  relates  that  he 
died  on  the  day  of  preparation  for  the  Passover.  Of  the  same 
census  we  read  in  2  Sam.  24:  1,  that  the  Lord  commanded 
David  to  take  it,  and  in  1  Chron.  21:  1,  that  it  was  Satan 

1  Hebrews  is  certainly  not  his,  and  the  Pastoral  Epistles  (1  and  2  Timo- 
thy and  Titus),  at  least  in  their  present  form.  Very  many  scholars  are  con- 
fident that  2  Thessalonians  and  Ephesians  are  not  from  Paul. 

2  See  the  references  on  pp.  49-50  and  66. 


270  PHILOSOPHICAL 

that  put  it  into  his  mind.  The  two  genealogies  of  Christ  — 
both  purporting  to  trace  his  ancestry  back  to  David  through 
Joseph  —  are  flatly  contradictory  of  each  other,  as  indeed 
both  conflict  with  the  tradition,  also  accepted  in  the  same 
two  Gospels,  of  the  virgin  birth,  whereby  Joseph  was  held  to 
be  not  his  father  at  all.  The  infancy  and  resurrection  stories 
at  the  beginning  and  end  of  Matthew  and  Luke  are  in  many 
respects  mutually  incompatible. 

(3)  Not  merely  inconsistent  with  one  another,  however, 
but  obviously  untrue,  are  many  of  the  Biblical  statements. 
For  example,  the  world  was  not  made  in  six  days  (which 
were  real  days,  "  morning  and  evening,"  to  the  narrator)  nor 
in  six  geological  epochs,  except  by  a  very  arbitrary  straining 
of  facts.  The  order  of  creation  given  in  Genesis  differs  from 
the  order  in  which  things  really  came  into  being.  The  sky  is 
not  a  "firmament"  (or  partition)  which  divides  the  "  waters 
which  are  under  the  firmament"  from  the  "  waters  which  are 
above  the  firmament."  This  whole  account  of  creation, 
which  is  closely  parallel  to  earlier  Babylonian  accounts,  re- 
flects a  very  primitive  conception  of  nature.  Again,  not  a 
few  statements  in  the  historical  books  have  been  proved 
untrue  by  extant  monuments  and  the  records  of  surround- 
ing nations;  it  is  plain  to  the  historical  student  that  the 
Jewish  chronicles  are  biased  and  to  considerable  extent  un- 
trustworthy. It  is  clear  that  the  evangelists  were  in  many 
points  mistaken  in  their  views  of  the  events  of  Jesus'  life. 
And  the  author  of  Acts,  by  his  irreconcilable  differences 
from  the  statements  of  Paul,  shows  a  radical  misconception 
of  the  nature  of  some  of  the  events  in  the  early  history  of 
the  Church. 

(4)  But  still  more  strikingly  incompatible  with  the  super- 
natural view  of  the  Bible  are  the  gross  and  immoral  ideas 
that  are  mingled  with  its  noble  and  elevating  inspirations. 
No  worse  than  contemporary  cults,  the  Jahweh-worship  of 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE   BIBLE  271 

the  Jews  was  at  first  no  better;  and  even  down  to  and  beyond 
the  times  of  Jesus  certain  ideas  persisted  that  are  repugnant 
to  our  hurnaner  instincts.  God's  anger  and  desire  for  ven- 
geance are  repeatedly  mentioned;  and  the  picture  the  un- 
prejudiced reader  would  form  of  this  Jewish  deity  from  many 
Old  Testament  passages  is  that  of  a  cruel  and  bloodthirsty 
tyrant.  He  "  hardens  Pharaoh's  heart"  1  that  he  may  punish 
the  Egyptians  in  a  spectacular  manner;  he  throws  stones 
down  from  heaven  on  Israel's  foes;  2  he  commands  the  sun 
to  stand  still  that  more  of  them  may  be  slain  before  dark; 3 
he  bids  his  chosen  people  invade  the  land  of  a  neighboring 
tribe,  burn  all  their  cities,  slay  all  the  males,  adults  and  chil- 
dren, and  all  the  married  women,  and  keep  the  virgins  for 
their  own  enjoyment;  4  he  slays  seventy  thousand  innocent 
Israelites  for  David's  sin  in  taking  a  census  of  the  people.5 
Jael  and  Rahab  are  praised,  though  guilty  of  the  blackest 
crimes,  because  they  were  on  Israel's  side.  To  the  usurper 
Jehu,  who  entraps  and  murders  numbers  of  innocent  people, 
including  children,  to  establish  his  power,  the  Lord  declares, 
"Thou  hast  done  well  in  executing  that  which  is  right  in 
mine  eyes."  6  Even  the  Psalms,  with  all  their  intense  reli- 
gious feeling,  have  much  in  them  that  is  low  and  unworthy 
—  whining  complaints  over  troubles,  anathemas  upon  other 
peoples  whom  the  Jews  hated,  vindictive  appeals  to  Jehovah 
to  persecute  them.7  "  O  daughter  of  Babylon,"  the  psalmist 
says,  "Happy  shall  he  be  that  rewardeth  thee  as  thou  hast 
served  us.  Happy  shall  he  be  that  taketh  and  dasheth  thy 
little  children  against  the  stones !  "  8 

Even  worse  than  the  revengeful  longings  of  the  psalmist 
is  the  bitter  threat  of  everlasting  punishment  for  unbelievers 

1  Exod.  14:  4-8.  *  Joshua  10:  11.  3  Ibid. :  12-13. 

4  Num.  31.  B  2  Sam.  24:15. 

6  2  Kings  10: 1-30.   For  other  cruel  Old  Testament  teachings  see  Deut. 
2:  34;  7:  2-16;  20: 10-17;  Lev.  25:44-46;  1  Sam.  15:3. 

7  Cf.,  e.g.,  Ps.  69 :  22-29;  109 :  6-21.  8  Ps.  137 :  8-9. 


272  PHILOSOPHICAL 

in  the  Book  of  Revelation.  He  that  worships  falsely  "shall 
drink  of  the  wine  of  the  wrath  of  God,  which  is  poured  out 
without  mixture  into  the  cup  of  his  indignation ;  and  he  shall 
be  tormented  with  fire  and  brimstone  in  the  presence  of  the 
holy  angels,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  Lamb.  And  the 
smoke  of  their  torment  ascendeth  up  for  ever  and  ever;  and 
they  have  no  rest  day  nor  night."  1  Paul  too  had  a  grim  and 
revolting  side  to  his  faith:  "  [God]  saith  to  Moses,  I  will  have 
mercy  on  whom  I  will  have  mercy,  and  I  will  have  compas- 
sion on  whom  I  will  have  compassion  ...  he  hath  mercy  on 
whom  he  will  have  mercy  and  whom  he  will  he  hardeneth. 
.  .  .  Hath  not  the  potter  power  over  the  clay,  of  the  same 
lump  to  make  one  vessel  unto  honor  and  another  unto  dis- 
honor?" -  And  in  one  of  the  epistles  we  read,  "God  shall 
send  them  strong  delusion,  that  they  should  believe  a  lie; 
that  they  all  might  be  damned  who  believed  not  the  truth."  3 
Surely  such  sentiments  need  no  comment!  In  the  light  of 
them,  to  teach  that  the  teachings  of  the  Bible  are  through- 
out divine  and  authoritative  is  to  barbarize  our  moral  ideas; 
to  claim  that  such  words  as  these  are  inspired  of  God  is  to 
worship  a  god  who  is  at  times  a  very  devil.  Wicked  dogmas 
have  been  based  on  some  of  these  texts,  cruelties  have  been 
justified  by  them.  Our  forefathers  put  poor  old  women  to 
death  because  of  the  verse  "A  witch  shall  not  live."  4  Reli- 
gious persecutors  have  pointed  to  the  texts,"  Constrain  them 
to  come  in,"  and  "Gather  up  the  tares  in  bundles  and  burn 
them."  5  The  subjection  of  women  has  justified  itself  from 
the  saying,  "  I  suffer  not  a  woman  to  teach  .  .  .  but  to  be 
in  silence."  6 

These  bits  of   dross  amid  the  gold  do  not  destroy  the 
worth  of  the  Bible,  but  they  do  make  sharply  against  the 

1  Rev.  14: 10-11.  ■  Rom.  9: 15H84.  8  2  Thess.  2: 11-12. 

«  Exod.  22: 18.  •  Luke  14:  23.   Matt.  13:  30.  •  1  Tim.  2:  12. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE   BIBLE  273 

conception  of  it  as  everywhere  inspired  and  authoritative. 
It  is  important,  to  get  a  right  appreciation  of  it,  that  we 
face  these  facts.  Indiscriminate  praise  hurts  rather  than 
helps  in  the  long  rui|.  The  Bible  is  a  very  human  book; 
it  pictures  the  progress  of  a  very  primitive  people  toward 
a  love  of  the  highest  things;  its  writers  are  often  mistaken, 
often  biased,  often  possessed  with  illusions,  sometimes 
possessed  with  human  weakness  and  passion.  We  must  read 
it  as  we  would  read  any  other  book,  passing  lightly  over  the 
unhelpful  parts,  dwelling  on  what  is  true  and  elevating,  and 
thus  making  it  a  stimulus,  never  a  hindrance  to  our  inward 
growth. 

Is  the  Bible  inspired,  the  Word  of  God,  authoritative? 

(1)  The  Bible  is  by  no  means  of  even  value;  to  use  it 
wisely  we  must  recognize  that  fact.  It  is  not  inspired  in  all 
its  teachings.  And  even  where  we  may  call  it  inspired,  we 
must  not  take  that  inspiration  as  a  warrant  of  infallibility. 
The  Church  has  never  agreed  upon  a  definition  of  the 
term  "inspired";  but  in  the  Bible,  inspiration  is  ascribed 
to  very  imperfect  men  —  as,  Balaam,  Gideon,  Saul,  David. 
It  means  the  entrance  into  the  heart  of  a  holier  spirit,  a 
loftier  spiritual  vision.  But  the  most  inspired  teachers 
have  had  their  illusions  and  sometimes  judged  amiss.  The 
only  way  to  know  what  is  inspired  is  to  find  what  has  the 
power  to  inspire  others  —  what  illumines  life,  reveals  its 
deeper  meanings,  quickens  men's  spiritual  loyalty.  And 
surely  so  much  inspiration  could  not  have  come  out  of  the 
Bible  for  all  these  generations  of  men  if  a  very  real  inspira- 
tion had  not  gone  into  it.  The  best  passages  in  it  are  in- 
spired as  are  few  other  passages  in  the  whole  range  of  the 
world's  religious  literature. 

Spiritual  insight  in  the  degree  here  found  is  rare.  But  there 
is  no  need,  in  our  loyalty  to  the  Bible,  of  disparaging  the 


274  PHILOSOPHICAL 

holy  books  of  the  other  religions  or  such  other  Jewish  and 
Christian  writings  as  did  not  get  included  within  the  Bible 
canon.  Ecclesiasticus,  for  example,  has  at  least  as  much 
inspiration  in  it  as  Ecclesiastes,  and  T<jbit  surely  more  than 
Esther;  in  the  Buddhist  Scriptures  are  many  passages  more 
truly  inspired  than  the  less  inspired  parts  of  our  Bible,  and 
surely  Dante  at  his  best  was  inspired,  and  Tennyson,  and 
Emerson,  and  Phillips  Brooks.  We  must  cease  to  think  of 
the  Bible  as  different  in  kind  from  other  books,  or  of  its 
teachings  as  unique.  The  religion  of  Israel  was  not  an 
isolated  phenomenon,  requiring  a  supernatural  explanation 
and  recorded  in  a  miraculous  manner;  it  was  rather  a  stage 
in  the  natural  evolution  of  Semitic  religion,  quite  intelli- 
gible in  view  of  the  influences  under  which  it  developed, 
and  finding  documentary  expression  through  the  natural 
zeal  of  its  priests  and  prophets.  Biblical  religion  is  an  out- 
growth of  earlier  phases  of  religious  development;  its 
legends  and  rites  and  codes  are  variants  of  earlier  ones 
which  may,  to  some  slight  extent,  still  be  deciphered  in 
Babylonian,  Assyrian,  and  Hittite  inscriptions.  In  short, 
God  is  revealed,  as  the  apostle  said,  "by  divers  portions 
and  in  divers  manners";  he  is  God  "not  of  the  Jews  only, 
but  of  the  Gentiles  also."  The  Bible,  if  it  is  an  invaluable 
record  of  man's  consciousness  of  God,  is,  after  all,  but  one  of 
many  such  records.  He  who  finds  inspiration  and  sustenance 
therein  should  learn  to  find  inspiration  also  in  the  other  pre- 
cious monuments  of  the  religious  life  of  humanity. 

(2)  Can  we  say,  then,  that  the  Bible  is  the  Word  of  God? 
It  is  noteworthy  that  that  phrase,  although  used  over  four 
hundred  times  in  the  Bible,  is  in  none  of  those  instances 
applied  to  the  Bible.  The  formula  of  the  Reformation  was, 
that  the  Scriptures  contain  the  Word  of  God;  that  is  to 
say,  the  truth  is  in  the  Bible,  but  the  Bible  as  a  whole  is 
not  to  be  identified  with  it.    It  is  the  vehicle  of  it,  and  a 


THE   INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  BIBLE  275 

vehicle  that  is  by  no  means  perfect.  The  devout  reader 
can  find  there  much  precious  religious  insight;  God  is  re- 
vealed therein.  But  that  revelation  of  God  is  mingled  with 
much  else  that  the  children  of  Israel,  in  their  long  quest 
for  divine  truth,  could  not  disentangle  therefrom.  The  fa- 
miliar assertion,  attributed  to  the  evangelist  Moody  among 
others,  that  the  Bible  is  "the  Word  of  God  from  cover  to 
cover,"  is  one  calculated  to  blur  our  perception  of  religious 
values  and  do  incalculable  mischief. 

(3)  Finally,  how,  or  in  what  sense,  has  the  Bible  author- 
ity? In  a  word,  its  authority  is  that  of  the  truth  which  it 
contains,  no  more.  We  cannot  call  a  statement  true  simply 
because  the  Bible  says  so;  but  whatever  of  truth  the  mature 
experience  of  Christendom  finds  in  the  Bible  demands  our 
allegiance  —  not  because  it  is  in  the  Bible,  but  because  it  is 
true.  We  may  thus  be  spared  all  that  far-fetched  exegesis, 
those  strained  interpretations  of  Biblical  statements  that 
aim  to  commend  them  to  us  against  conscience  or  common 
sense,  and  freely  admit  that  the  Biblical  writers,  however 
inspired  in  their  best  moments,  were  at  other  times,  or 
even  in  the  midst  of  their  most  inspired  utterances,  often 
deluded  in  their  hopes  and  mistaken  in  their  facts.  We  never 
dream  of  accepting  the  sweeping  claims  of  the  other  holy 
books  of  the  world  to  an  absolute  authority;  we  read  the 
Vedas,  the  Zend-Avesta,  the  Koran  for  whatever  of  truth 
we  can  find  in  them,  and  discard  the  rest.  Were  it  not 
that  Christianity  grew  up  out  of  Judaism,  and  in  its  infancy 
rested  upon  it  for  support,  we  should  no  more  think  of  ac- 
cepting the  authority  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures  than  that  of 
any  of  these  other  sacred  writings.  In  the  last  analysis,  we 
must  follow  Christ's  precept  —  "  Why  even  of  yourselves 
judge  ye  not  what  is  right?  "  We  must  judge  every  Book 
and  Church  and  Teacher  by  the  light  of  our  own  reason 
and  conscience;  and  we  shall  know  that  the  Bible  contains 


276  PHILOSOPHICAL 

a  great  revelation  of  truth  because  we  are  able  to  judge  for 
ourselves  of  what  is  true  and  what  is  false.  Calvin  saw 
clearly  when  he  wrote,  "As  to  this  inquiry,  'Whence  shall 
we  be  persuaded  that  Scripture  hath  flowed  from  God  unless 
we  have  recourse  to  the  decrees  of  the  Church?'  This  is 
as  if  one  should  inquire,  '  Whence  do  we  learn  to  distinguish 
light  from  darkness,  white  from  black,  sweet  from  bitter?' 
For  Scripture  lets  us  have  a  no  more  obscure  perception  of 
its  truth  than  black  and  white  things  of  their  color,  sweet 
and  bitter  of  their  taste." 

Wherein  consists  the  greatness  of  the  Bible? 

(1)  The  primary  value  of  the  Bible  will  doubtless  always 
lie  in  its  power  to  inspire,  to  awaken  a  devotional  spirit, 
and  deepen  men's  insight  into  spiritual  truth.  No  book  was 
ever  so  surcharged  with  religious  feeling  or  makes  it  so 
concrete  and  living.  Heterogeneous  as  its  various  documents 
are,  we  find  throughout  an  endless  faith  in  the  laws  of 
righteousness,  a  never-fading  consciousness  of  God.  The 
great  seers  and  prophets  and  saints  of  the  last  two  millennia, 
together  with  countless  humble  souls,  have  to  an  extra- 
ordinary degree  been  moulded  by  it  and  drawn  from  it  their 
inspiration  and  their  power.  National  ideals  have  been 
formed  under  its  influence;  it  has  been  one  of  the  two  or 
three  greatest  influences  in  modern  life.  "  This  collection  of 
books  has  taken  such  a  hold  on  the  world  as  no  other.  .  .  . 
It  is  read  of  a  Sabbath  in  all  the  ten  thousand  pulpits  of  our 
land.  ...  It  goes  equally  to  the  cottage  of  the  plain  man  and 
the  palace  of  the  king.  It  is  woven  into  the  literature  of  the 
scholar,  and  colors  the  talk  of  the  street.  .  .  .  Some  thousand 
famous  writers  come  up  in  this  century,  to  be  forgotten  in  the 
next.  But  the  silver  cord  of  the  Bible  is  not  loosed,  nor  its 
golden  bowl  broken,  as  tens  of  centuries  go  by."  l 
1  Theodore  Parker,  Discourse  of  Religion,  pp.  302-04. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  THE  BIBLE  277 

In  view  of  the  proved  inspirational  power  of  these  writings, 
we  must  take  care  that  they  be  read  still  by  the  generations 
to  come.  The  collapse  of  the  old  pretensions  concerning  the 
Bible  has  turned  many  a  man  away  from  it  in  impatience  or 
contempt.  Others,  who  have  not  heard  the  call  to  the  higher 
life,  are  bored  with  its  solemnity  and  prefer  to  do  their 
reading  in  the  lighter  and  gayer  literature  of  the  hour.  But 
if  the  people  ever  cease  to  read  the  Bible  for  its  spiritual 
dynamic,  our  young  men  will,  we  may  fear,  cease  to  see 
visions,  and  lose  their  belief  in  the  things  of  the  spirit. 

(2)  Even  from  a  purely  cultural  point  of  view  the  loss 
would  be  great.  The  splendid  Elizabethan  English  of  the 
King  James  Version  has  done  more  than  any  other  force  to 
preserve  the  beauty  and  rhythm  of  our  speech;  conver- 
sance with  it  has  been  the  source  of  the  literary  power  of 
many  a  master.  And  an  acquaintance  with  this  winnowed 
literature  of  a  great  people  is  an  education  in  itself.  All  the 
great  human  emotions  find  expression  between  the  covers  of 
this  book  with  the  deepest  sincerity  and  in  inimitable  lan- 
guage. Here  are  chronicles  unsurpassed  in  vivid  terseness 
and  dramatic  power;  here  are  ancient  legal  codes,  folk-tales, 
sermons,  letters,  biographies,  love-poems,  hymns,  an  epic, 
charming  tales  of  rustic  life,  of  Oriental  courts,  of  war  and 
passion;  conjugal  fidelity  is  dwelt  upon,  ambition,  filial 
devotion,  patriotism,  and  mother-love;  fascinating  stories, 
exquisite  lyrics,  earnest  exhortations,  memorable  aphorisms, 
aptest  of  parables,  combine  to  form  an  anthology  of  the 
deepest  interest  to  all  lovers  of  what  is  abiding  and  excellent 
in  human  life.  "  Wholly  apart  from  its  religious  or  from 
its  ethical  value,  the  Bible  is  the  one  book  that  no  intelli- 
gent person  who  wishes  to  come  into  contact  with  the  world 
of  thought  and  to  share  the  ideas  of  the  great  minds  of  the 
Christian  era  can  afford  to  be  ignorant  of.  All  modern  liter- 
ature and  all  art  are  permeated  with  it.  There  is  scarcely  a 


278  PHILOSOPHICAL 

great  work  in  the  language  that  can  be  fully  understood  and 
enjoyed  without  this  knowledge,  so  full  is  it  of  allusions 
and  illustrations  from  the  Bible.  It  is  not  at  all  a  question 
of  religion,  or  theology,  or  dogma;  it  is  a  question  of  general 
intelligence."  1 

(3)  From  the  historian's  point  of  view,  also,  we  must 
acknowledge  the  importance  of  these  records  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  greatest  of  religions.  They  are  not  always  accu- 
rate or  trustworthy  in  their  conception  of  the  facts;  but 
they  are  priceless  sources,  landmarks  of  religious  history, 
monuments  of  some  of  the  most  important  events  that  have 
happened  on  earth.  From  them  we  can  understand  the  move- 
ment that  culminated  in  the  great  sermons  of  the  prophets, 
and  later  led  to  the  supreme  event  in  religious  history,  per- 
haps in  all  history,  the  Christian  conquest  of  the  Western 
world.  The  memorabilia  of  Jesus  picture  the  purest  of  men 
teaching  the  highest  way  of  life  that  man  has  conceived. 
The  Bible  is  the  greatest  source-book  of  the  religious  life, 
its  supreme  and  classic  expression.  As  the  Greek  statues 
are  in  the  realm  of  sculpture,  as  Homer  and  Dante  are  in  the 
realm  of  poetry,  as  Shakespeare  is  in  the  realm  of  drama, 
so  is  the  Bible  in  the  realm  of  religion. 

(4)  And  finally,  however  antiquated  or  unintelligible  to 
us  its  ancient  conceptions  may  sometimes  appear,  and  how- 
ever we  may  be  drawn  to  other,  more  recent  and  more  so- 
phisticated books,  we  must  never  forget  what  the  Bible  has 
meant  in  the  life  of  our  Church  and  of  our  race.  Tattered 
and  worn  as  it  is,  only  the  fragments  of  a  great  literature, 
its  text  often  corrupted  through  the  errors  of  a  thousand 
loving  but  humanly  fallible  copyings  by  hand,  discredited 
in  many  of  its  statements  by  the  onward  march  of  historical 
and  cosmological  knowledge,  obsolete  in  many  of  its  ideas 
and  obsolescent  even  in  some  of  its  most  cherished  ideals,  it 

1  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  quoted  by  Selleck,  p.  5. 


THE   INTERPRETATION  OF  THE   BIBLE  279 

is  yet  our  Book  of  books,  the  banner  about  which  Christen- 
dom has  so  long  rallied,  and  the  ultimate  source  of  very  much 
that  is  best  in  our  lives.  Like  a  flag  that  is  battle-scarred  and 
torn,  it  has  inspired  so  many  men  to  heroic  endeavor  and 
sacrifice,  consecrated  for  them  the  long  effort  of  so  many 
dragging  days,  soothed  the  sting  of  sorrow  of  so  many 
breaking  hearts,  that  the  man  who  is  capable  of  any  deep 
and  natural  sentiment  can  hardly  see  or  handle  it  without 
emotion.  As  the  flag  is  the  symbol  of  our  nation  and  a 
summons  to  her  service,  so  the  Bible  is  a  perpetual  summons 
to  the  spiritual  life  and  the  immortal  symbol  of  man's  un- 
quenchable faith  in  God. 

J.  Warschauer,  What  is  the  Bible?  J.  T.  Sunderland,  Origin  and 
Character  of  the  Bible.  W.  C.  Selleck,  New  Appreciation  of  the  Bible. 
Driver  and  Kirkpatrick,  Higher  Criticism.  F.  W.  Farrar,  History 
of  Interpretation;  The  Bible,  its  Meaning  and  Supremacy.  J.  E. 
Carpenter,  The  Bible  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  Foundations, 
chap.  ii.  W.  Gladden,  Who  Wrote  the  Bible  ?  B.  P.  Bowne,  Studies 
in  Christianity,  chap.  I.  G.  T.  Ladd,  What  is  the  Bible  ?  L.  Wallis, 
Sociological  Study  of  the  Bible.  J.  P.  Peters,  The  Old  Testament  and 
the  New  Scholarship.  E.  von  Dobschutz,  Influence  of  the  Bible 
upon  Civilization.  A.  Sabatier,  Religions  of  Autfiority,  bk.  n; 
Outlines  of  a  Philosophy  of  Religion,  bk.  i,  chap.  n.  R.  M.  Wenley, 
Modern  Thought  and  the  Crisis  in  Belief,  in-v.  G.  H.  Gilbert, 
Interpretation  of  the  Bible.  W.  G.  Jordan,  Biblical  Criticism  and 
Modern  Thought.  Neiv  World,  vol.  3,  pp,  23,  250.  Metfiodist  Review, 
vol.  93,  p.  899.  Biblical  World,  vol.  44,  p.  3. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MIRACLES 

With  the  passing  of  the  credulous  acceptance  of  Bible 
legends  and  the  blind  trust  in  Bible  texts,  the  miraculous 
element  in  Christian  belief  has  tended  steadily  to  diminish. 
Many  of  the  leaders  of  Christian  thought  now  reject  miracles 
in  toto;  and  others  who  are  not  ready  to  abandon  them  al- 
together have  ceased  to  use  them  as  supports  for  their  faith. 
We  will  first  note  the  reasons  for  this  waning  of  belief  in 
miracles,  and  then  consider  how  far,  if  at  all,  they  can  serve 
as  foundations  or  aids  for  our  theology. 

What  considerations  have  weakened  the  belief  in  miracles? 

Judging  by  its  etymology,  the  word  "  miracle"  means 
simply  a  marvelous  event,  one  which  excites  our  wonder.1 
In  this  broadest  sense  we  speak  of  the  sunrise  or  the  coming 
of  spring  as  a  miracle,  and  may,  indeed,  find  the  whole 
pageant  of  nature  miraculous.  "This  green,  flowery,  rock- 
built  earth  .  .  .  that  great  deep  sea  of  azure  that  swims 
overhead.  .  .  .  What  is  it?  Ay  what?  At  bottom  we  do  not 
yet  know;  we  can  never  know  at  all.  ...  It  is  by  not  think- 
ing that  we  cease  to  wonder  at  it.  .  .  .  This  world  after  all 
our  science  and  sciences,  is  still  a  miracle;  wonderful,  in- 
scrutable, magical  antl  more,  to  whosoever  will  think  of  it."  2 
More  particularly,  a  miracle  is  a  wonderful  event  in  which 
God  is  revealed,  or  which  works  for  man's  salvation;  the 

1  So  the  Latin  miraculum,  the  Greek  0avfj.da-toy,  and  the  German 
W  under. 

1  Carlyle,  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship,  chap.  I. 


MIRACLES  281 

greatest  of  miracles  is  the  conversion  that  takes  place  in  a 
sinner's  heart,  the  power  of  the  indwelling  God  to  regenerate 
a  life.  In  this  sense  there  can  be  no  objection  to  the  use  of 
the  term;  it  in  so  far  implies  no  violation  of  natural  law,  no 
break  in  the  regular  sequence  of  cause  and  effect.  And  since 
the  very  idea  of  natural  law  is  a  recent  one,  the  conception 
of  miracles  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  generally  implied  such 
a  break  in  a  fixed  natural  order.  But  the  conception  has 
usually  implied  something  abnormal,  an  intrusion  into  the 
ordinary  and  expected  course  of  events;  and  the  modern 
technical  sense  of  the  word,  as  a  break  in  the  natural  chain 
of  cause  and  effect  due  to  supernatural  intervention,  scarcely 
more  than  makes  explicit  and  precise  what  was  vaguely 
meant.  Taking  the  term  in  this  sense,  then,  what  grounds 
have  we  for  mistrusting  the  existence  of  miracles? 

(1)  In  the  first  place,  there  has  been  in  the  past  century 
or  two  a  rapid  accumulation  of  evidence  pointing  to  the 
invariable  regularity  of  natural  processes  —  what  is  called 
the  reign  of  natural  law.  The  more  closely  we  analyze  events 
in  any  field  of  study,  the  more  clearly  we  see  that  their  ap- 
parent confusion  is  the  result  of  an  extremely  complex  tissue 
of  underlying  uniformities.  Things  do  happen  in  exactly  the 
same  way  if  exactly  the  same  circumstances  are  repeated; 
the  enormous  development  of  science  has  been  possible  only 
because  of  that  fact.  Whenever  an  experiment  has  been 
properly  made,  it  holds  good  for  all  time;  for  the  way  things 
behaved  yesterday  is  the  way  they  will  behave  to-morrow. 
There  are  indeed  many  groups  of  phenomena  too  intricate 
for  us  as  yet  to  unravel;  particularly  is  this  true  of  mental 
phenomena.  But  the  field  of  observed  uniformity  is  con- 
stantly being  extended.  Even  mental  and  social  facts  are 
suggesting  underlying  laws  to  investigators;  and  if  concrete 
mental  and  social  events  are  too  complex  and  include  too 
many  disturbing  factors  for  these  underlying  laws  to  be  any- 


282  PHILOSOPHICAL 

thing  but  tendencies,  the  results  of  statistical  study,  where 
these  disturbing  factors  counterbalance  one  another,  ex- 
hibit a  regularity  often  very  striking.  Altogether,  it  looks 
more  and  more  as  if  the  whole  world  were,  from  the  ana- 
lytic point  of  view,  an  enormously  elaborate  mechanism; 
and  this  increasingly  insistent  look  of  things  constitutes  a 
very  great  presumption  against  the  existence  of  those  alleged 
irregular  events  that  we  call  miracles. 

We  must,  indeed,  beware  of  falling  into  a  scientific 
dogmatism  upon  the  matter.  After  all,  the  universality  of 
natural  law  is  no  more  than  a  very  big  generalization  rest- 
ing upon  a  long  series  of  observations;  if  any  facts  to  the  con- 
trary can  be  surely  established,  the  generalization  is  thereby 
disproved.  We  have  no  a  priori  certainty  of  this  "  reign  of 
law."  It  rests  upon  just  such  an  unbroken  induction  as  the 
generalization  that  "  all  swans  are  white,"  which  was  ut- 
terly smashed  by  the  discovery  of  one  black  swan.  Let  but 
one  miracle  be  proved,  and  we  must  revise  this  conception 
of  the  universal  life  as  an  unbroken  web  of  uniformities. 
Our  science  will  be  rendered  in  so  far  more  precarious;  we 
shall  have  to  recognize  the  possibility  of  exceptions  to  the 
laws  which  we  have  come  most  confidently  to  rely  upon. 
But  whether  this  be  the  case  or  not  we  cannot  determine 
a  priori;  we  must  simply  sharpen  our  observation,  keep 
our  eyes  open  for  evidence.  Hume,  in  a  famous  argument, 
declared  the  evidence  for  the  universality  of  natural  law  to 
be  so  vast  that  the  falsity  of  any  amount  of  evidence  for  a 
miracle  was  more  supposable  than  a  break  in  law.  But  the 
universality  of  natural  law  is  by  no  means  so  firmly  estab- 
lished; in  some  fields  we  have  as  yet  hardly  a  few  glimpses 
of  law;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  a  great  deal  of  hu- 
man testimony  offered  in  support  of  alleged  breaches  of  law. 
The  most  that  we  can  say  is,  that  in  view  of  the  very  re- 
markable recent  extensions  of  the  realm  of  ascertained  law 


MIRACLES  283 

into  regions  that  once  seemed  hopelessly  lawless,  it  should 
require  much  more  certain  evidence  to  convince  us  of  a  mir- 
acle than  we  should  ask  in  support  of  any  fact  against  which 
there  is  no  such  antecedent  presumption.1 

In  recent  years  the  deterministic  conception  of  the  universe 
—  the  conception  that  whatever  happens  is  absolutely  de- 
termined by  antecedent  causes,  and,  therefore,  theoretically 
predictable  —  has  been  sharply  questioned.  We  have,  for 
example,  Driesch's  Vitalism,  and  Bergson's  Creative  Evo- 
lution —  theories  that  postulate  certain  variable  and  inde- 
terminate factors  at  definite  points  in  the  universal  life; 
uncaused  causes,  that  veer  events  this  way  or  that  to  an 
extent  and  in  a  direction  unforeseeable  even  by  omniscience. 
As  yet  none  of  these  anti-deterministic  theories  is  any- 
where near  being  proved;  and  the  arguments  offered  in  sup- 
port of  them  have  been  pretty  severely  handled.  In  spite  of 
the  lure  of  these  conceptions  of  a  more  fluid  and  plastic  world- 
life,  the  weight  of  scientific  opinion  seems  to  incline  toward 
the  belief  in  the  universality  of  law.  But,  after  all,  the  slight 
veerings  from  mechanically  determined  effects  in  the  human 
brain,  or  in  the  conduct  of  a  bit  of  protoplasm,  cannot  be 
conceived  to  produce  such  effects  as  the  turning  of  water  into 
wine  or  the  restoration  of  a  corpse  to  life.  That  is  to  say, 
the  concrete  instances  where  we  are  asked  to  believe  in  a 
miracle  are  such  as  to  come  within  the  field  of  law  in  any 

1  Huxley  has  a  good  illustration  of  this  principle  in  his  book  David 
Hume  (p.  132):  "If  a  man  tells  me  he  saw  a  piebald  horse  in  Piccadilly, 
I  believe  him  without  hesitation.  The  thing  itself  is  likely  enough,  and 
there  is  no  imaginable  motive  for  his  deceiving  me.  But  if  the  same  per- 
son tells  me  he  observed  a  zebra  there,  I  might  hesitate  a  little  about  ac- 
cepting his  testimony,  unless  I  were  well  satisfied,  not  only  as  to  his  previous 
acquaintance  with  zebras,  but  as  to  his  powers  and  opportunities  of  ob- 
servation in  the  present  case.  If,  however,  my  informant  assured  me  that 
he  beheld  a  centaur  trotting  down  that  famous  thoroughfare,  I  should 
emphatically  decline  to  credit  his  statement;  and  this  even  if  he  were  the 
saintliest  of  men  and  ready  to  suffer  martyrdom  in  support  of  his  belief." 


234  PHILOSOPHICAL 

case;  and  the  difference  between  the  differing  world  views 
we  have  mentioned  is  not  such  as  to  affect  the  question  of 
miracles  in  any  appreciable  degree. 

Nor  need  this  other  suggestion  detain  us,  that  the  alleged 
miraculous  events  may  be  true  and  yet  not  contrary  to  law, 
since  the  law  may  really  be  more  complex  than  we  had  sup- 
posed, and,  in  its  adequate  formulation,  such  as  to  cover  the 
given  case.1  Certain  supposed  miracles,  such  as  the  healing- 
acts  of  Jesus,  and  of  present-day  Christian  Scientists,  or 
the  abrupt  conversions  made  by  evangelists,  may  thus  be 
ultimately  explicable  in  terms  of  law,  and  so  not  miracles 
at  all.  But  that  the  laws  of  chemistry  are  in  need  of  such 
drastic  amendment  as  to  include  the  case  of  water  turning 
into  wine  at  a  word,  that  the  laws  of  astronomy  are  so  far 
from  adequate  as  to  need  inclusion  of  the  possibility  of  the 
sun's  standing  still  upon  occasion,  is  too  grotesque  a  sup- 
position to  entertain.  Most  of  the  miracles  that  men  argue 
for  are  of  this  type;  they  so  flatly  contradict  well-ascer- 
tained uniformities  as  to  present  a  clear  alternative.  Either 
our  most  certain  natural  laws  are  really  broken  now  and  then, 
or  else  the  supposed  evidence  for  these  breaks  is  untrust- 
worthy, and  the  alleged  events  never  happened. 

(2)  What,  then,  is  the  strength  of  the  evidence  for  miracles? 
It  must  be  confessed  that  while  the  evidence  for  natural 
laws  has  been  growing  steadily  greater,  the  evidence  for 
miracles  has  been  growing  as  steadily  less.  Remote  and 
credulous  times  are  full  of  miracles;  we  hear  of  them  but 
rarely,  if  at  all,  to-day.  They  flourish  in  the  dark  and  vanish 
with  the  light  of  day,  with  the  growth  of  the  habit  of  accu- 
rate observation  and  recording  of  observations.  They  seem 
to  have  an  affinity  for  uncultivated  minds  and  superstitious 
habits  of  thought;  we  do  not  find  them  entering  into  the 

1  For  a  clear  exposition  of  this  suggested  possibility,  see  Rice,  pp. 
329-36. 


MIRACLES  285 

experience  of  the  educated.  No  single  case  of  what  would 
clearly  be  a  miracle  has  ever  been  vouched  for  by  such  care- 
ful scientific  observation  as  to  leave  no  room  for  doubt  of  the 
facts.1  Even  if  we  had  apparently  unimpeachable  evidence, 
in  some  isolated  instance,  of  a  fact  which,  if  it  existed,  would 
be  a  miracle,  we  should  have  to  bear  in  mind  the  great 
fallibility  of  human  testimony,2  and  reserve  our  acquiescence 

1  Some  "spiritualistic"  phenomena  are  vouched  for  by  men  of  high 
scientific  repute;  so  are  some  of  the  "miracles"  wrought  by  the  holy  relics 
at  Treves,  etc.  But  these  phenomena,  even  if  we  can  feel  sure  of  their  exist- 
ence, do  not  contradict  clearly  ascertained  laws,  and  are,  in  most  cases,  not 
regarded  as  miracles  by  the  scientific  men  who  are  persuaded  of  their 
existence.  The  case  would  be  very  different  if  we  could  get  scientific  guar- 
anty of  such  facts  as  the  turning  of  water  into  wine,  a  man's  walking  upon 
the  sea,  being  born  of  a  virgin,  etc.,  etc. 

2  Any  reader  of  Munsterberg's  On  the  Witness  Stand  will  realize  the 
extraordinary  unreliability  of  the  witness  even  of  well-trained  men,  speak- 
ing in  the  best  of  faith.  The  testimony  of  ignorant  and  untrained  men  is 
almost  worthless,  except  as  probed  by  expert  examiners.  Especially  is  this 
the  case  where  the  emotions  and  imagination  are  implicated.  I  hardly 
know  of  a  more  telling  argument  against  miracles  than  this  little  book  — 
which,  of  course,  was  written  without  any  such  reference. 

Even  Catholic  writers,  in  their  treatment  of  the  miracles  ascribed  to  the 
saints,  have  been  free  to  point  out  the  unreliability  of  such  testimony.  Cf. 
H.  Delahaye,  Legends  of  the  Saints,  p.  15:  "Even  the  most  veracious  and 
upright  of  men  unconsciously  create  legends  by  introducing  into  their 
narratives  their  own  impressions,  deductions,  and  passions,  and  thus 
present  the  truth  either  embellished  or  disfigured,  according  to  circum- 
stances. These  sources  of  error,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  become  multiplied 
with  the  number  of  intermediaries.  Every  one  in  turn  understands  the 
story  in  a  different  fashion  and  repeats  it  in  his  own  way.  Through  inat- 
tention or  through  defective  memory  some  one  forgets  to  mention  an 
important  circumstance,  necessary  to  the  continuity  of  the  history.  A  nar- 
rator, more  observant  than  the  rest,  notes  the  deficiency,  and  by  means  of 
his  imagination  does  his  best  to  repair  it.  He  invents  some  new  detail,  and 
suppresses  another,  until  probability  and  logic  appear  to  him  sufficiently 
safeguarded.  The  result  is  usually  only  obtained  at  the  expense  of  truth; 
for  the  narrator  does  not  observe  that  he  has  substituted  a  very  different 
story  for  the  primitive  version.  These  things  happen  every  day;  and 
whether  we  are  eye-witnesses  or  mere  intermediaries,  our  limited  intelli- 
gence, our  carelessness,  our  passions,  and  above  all  perhaps  our  prejudices, 
all  conspire  against  historical  accuracy  when  we  take  it  upon  ourselves  to 
become  narrators." 


286  PHILOSOPHICAL 

until  it  had  been  corroborated  by  testimony  from  other 
observers  or  in  other  similar  cases.  The  fact  seems  to  be, 
however,  that  the  belief  in  miracles  flourishes  in  primitive 
life,  and  among  naive  peoples  far  into  civilized  times;  miracles 
cluster,  in  particular,  about  men  of  unusual  power  and  per- 
sonality, above  all,  about  great  religious  teachers.  But  they 
belong  to  the  thought  of  uncritical  peoples  and  disappear 
with  enlightenment. 

(3)  This  fact,  at  any  rate,  is  to  be  borne  in  mind:  Chris- 
tianity has  by  no  means  an  exclusive  lien  upon  miracles. 
All  the  religions  are  full  of  them;  and,  as  a  recent  theologian 
has  said,  it  is  not  only  the  weakness  of  the  evidence  for  the 
Christian  miracles  but  the  strength  of  the  evidence  for  the 
non-Christian  miracles  that  gives  us  pause.  It  is  only  by  our 
bias  and  partisanship  that  we  accept  ours  and  reject  theirs. 
Many  miracles  are  better  authenticated  than  those  which 
Christian  faith  has  clung  to;  yet  no  Christian  dreams  of 
accepting  them.  Herodotus,  for  example,  tells  us  of  miracu- 
lous events  that  happened  in  his  own  times ;  he  was  a  writer 
of  a  more  critical  temper  than  most  of  the  historians  of  early 
Christianity,  and  of  unblemished  character.  Yet  we  dismiss 
his  tales  with  a  smile.  We  read  that  Buddha  was  born  of 
a  virgin,  that  Zoroaster  was  miraculously  conceived,  that 
Mohammed  was  visited  by  the  angel  Gabriel;  nearly  all  of 
the  Biblical  miracles  can  be  paralleled  by  equally  well-  (or 
ill-)  substantiated  similar  miracles  in  other  religions.  The 
study  of  comparative  religion  shows  how  the  same  legends 
and  miracles  tend  constantly  to  recur.  But  the  believers  of 
each  religion  stoutly  affirm  their  own  miracles  and  deny 
those  of  the  other  faiths.  "  The  time  has  come  when  the 
minds  of  men  no  longer  put  as  a  matter  of  course  the  Bible 
miracles  in  a  class  by  themselves.  Now,  from  the  moment 
this  time  commences,  from  the  moment  that  the  compara- 
tive history  of  all  miracles  is  a  conception  entertained  and 


MIRACLES  287 

a  study  admitted,  the  conclusion  is  certain,  the  reign  of  the 
Bible  miracles  is  doomed."  l 

If,  then,  we  accept  some  miracles  —  as,  the  raising  of 
Lazarus,  or  the  emergence  of  the  reanimated  body  of  Jesus 
from  the  tomb  and  its  ascension  into  the  sky  —  there 
seems  to  be  no  place  to  stop.  Shall  we  go  on  to  believe  in 
Elijah's  raising  of  the  dead,  or  his  bodily  translation  to  the 
skies?  in  the  talking  of  Balaam's  ass,  in  the  collapse  of  the 
walls  of  Jericho  at  the  blowing  of  horns?  Shall  we  go  on  to 
believe  in  similar  stories  in  the  Buddhist  or  Mohammedan 
or  other  Scriptures?  The  Biblical  accounts  are  not  con- 
temporary records;  the  resurrection  stories,  in  the  form  which 
we  now  possess,  date  from  at  least  fifty  years  after  the  time 
of  which  they  speak,  the  Lazarus  story  from  at  least  sixty, 
and  more  likely  eighty  years  after.  Then  why  not  accept 
the  marvels  in  Bonaventura's  life  of  St.  Francis,  written 
but  forty  years  after  that  saint's  death,  and  in  a  more  en- 
lightened age?  The  fact  is,  if  we  allow  ourselves  to  believe  in 
the  one  case  and  refuse  to  believe  in  the  other  case,  it  is  not 
because  we  have  any  better  evidence  for  the  miracles  we  ac- 
cept, but  because  we  have  an  antecedent  bias  toward  belief 
therein.  We  believe  primarily  because  we  wish  to  believe. 

(4)  Another  interesting  fact  is  that  we  can  often  catch 
miracles  in  process  of  growth.  A  harmony  of  the  Gospels, 
for  example,  reveals,  here  and  there,  a  development  from 
a  simple  event  as  recorded  by  Mark  into  a  much  more  mar- 
velous happening  in  Matthew  or  Luke.  We  can  see  how  the 
antecedent  expectation  of  miracle-working  on  the  part  of 
the  Messiah,  and  the  need  of  pointing  to  miracles  in  proof  of 
their  assertion  of  Jesus'  Messiahship,  led  the  early  Christian 
believers  to  an  unconscious  embroidering  upon  the  primitive 
tradition.    There  was  a  nucleus  of  marvelous  healing-acts 

1  Arnold,  God  and  the  Bible,  p.  40.  An  interesting  comparative  study  of 
miracles  follows. 


888  PHILOSOPHICAL 

about  which  further  accretions  could  easily  gather;  and  any 
tale,  once  started,  in  whatever  way,  would  gain  uncritical 
acceptance.  In  some  cases  we  can  conjecture  with  consider- 
able confidence  that  an  apparent  miracle  resulted  from  the 
misunderstanding  of  a  parable,  as  in  the  matter  of  the 
blasted  fig  tree  and  the  raising  of  Lazarus,1  or  of  what  was 
originally  poetic  hyperbole,  as  in  the  case  of  the  sun  stand- 
ing still.2  In  the  later,  noncanonical  gospels,  we  have  all  sorts 
of  legends  which  had  not  yet  been  accepted  when  our  Gos- 
pels were  written.  The  stories  of  the  birth  of  Jesus  in  Beth- 
lehem, the  virgin  birth,  and  the  reanimation  of  Jesus'  body, 
had  almost  certainly  not  gained  currency  in  the  time  of  Paul 
and  the  apostles;  neither  in  Paul's  Epistles  nor  in  the  ac- 
count of  the  primitive  Christian  preaching  in  Acts  do  we 
find  allusion  to  them,  though  they  would  have  been  pre- 
cisely the  most  telling  arguments  if  known.3  Again,  if  all 
the  miracles  imputed  by  the  evangelists  to  Jesus  were  really 
performed,  in  the  presence  of  so  many  witnesses,  it  is  in- 
credible that  he  should  have  made  so  little  impression  upon 
people's  minds.  The  priests  assumed  without  question  that 
he  was  a  blasphemer;  even  his  disciples  were  slow  to  accept 
him  as  the  Messiah;  and  at  his  death  he  had,  in  spite  of  his 
extraordinary  personality  and  spiritual  power,  but  a  small 
following. 

1  Cf.  Mark  11:12-14,  with  Luke  13:6-9;  and  John  11:1-46,  with 
Luke  16:19-31. 

2  The  historian  takes  literally  (Joshua  10:  13b-14)  the  lines  of  poetry, 
from  the  book  of  Jashar,  which  he  has  just  quoted  (vss.  12b-13a).  The 
verse-division  here  conceals  the  situation  badly. 

3  It  may  be  necessary  to  say  again  that  the  rejection  of  the  stories  at 
the  end  of  the  Gospels,  concerning  the  emergence  of  Jesus  from  the  tomb 
and  the  appearance  of  his  reanimated  body  here  and  there,  by  no  means 
implies  a  rejection  of  the  belief  in  the  continued  life  of  Jesus  after  death. 
That  belief  was  held  by  the  disciples  from  the  very  beginning,  was  corrob- 
orated by  their  experiences  (whatever  those  experiences  may  have  been) 
and  was  accepted  by  Paul  on  the  testimony  of  his  experience  on  the  road 
to  Damascus. 


MIRACLES  289 

Such  considerations,  brief  as  our  summary  has  been,  should 
sufficiently  explain  the  growing  skepticism  in  regard  to 
miracles.  We  may  now  ask  of  what  value  the  belief  in 
miracles  may  be  if  we  can  still,  in  spite  of  these  considera- 
tions, retain  it. 

Of  what  value  is  the  belief  in  miracles? 

According  to  the  traditional  view,  the  power  to  work  mir- 
acles must  come  from  God,  and  is  therefore  a  witness,  not 
only  to  the  presence  of  God  in  his  world,  but  to  the  truth 
of  the  teaching  by  which  they  are  accompanied.  They  are 
God's  endorsement  of  his  chosen  prophets,  their  credentials 
before  an  unbelieving  world.  Let  us  examine  this  concep- 
tion more  closely,  taking  as  our  concrete  example  the  case 
of  Christ,  which  is  the  crucial  case  for  Christian  thought. 

(1)  Do  Christ's  miracles,  if  proved,  guarantee  the  truth 
of  his  spiritual  teachings?  How  can  they?  What  connection 
is  there  between  extraordinary  physical  powers  and  spiritual 
truth?  "Suppose  I  should  say  to  you  that  hate  is  better  than 
love,  and  then  should  work  a  miracle,  — ■  for  instance,  the 
turning  of  this  pencil  into  a  serpent,  —  would  that  prove  it 
true  that  hate  is  better  than  love?  Or  suppose  I  should  turn 
a  thousand  pencils  into  serpents,  or  work  a  thousand  other 
miracles,  would  they  all  combined  have  anything  whatever 
to  do  with  proving  that  hate  is  better  than  love?"  l  The 
validity  of  Christ's  principles  of  living  is  witnessed,  not  by 
any  marvels  that  may  have  accompanied  their  proclamation, 
but  by  the  inward  power  and  peace  they  bring.  If  they  do 
not  work,  if  they  do  not  prove  the  best  solution  of  the  prob- 

1  J.  T.  Sunderland,  Miracles  in  the  Light  of  Modern  Knowledge,  p.  6. 
Cf.  Carl  vie,  Sartor  Resartus,  bk.  m,  chap,  vnr:  "Here  too  may  some  in- 
quire, not  without  astonishment:  On  what  ground  shall  one,  that  can 
make  iron  swim,  come  and  declare  that  therefore  he  can  teach  religion? 
To  us,  truly,  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  such  declaration  were  inept 
enough." 


290  PHILOSOPHICAL  I 

lem  of  life,  then  we  shall  do  well  to  discard  them  for  a  better 
solution,  though  all  the  thunders  of  Sinai  proclaimed  their 
supernatural  source.  The  authoritative  religious  teacher 
is  not  he  who  has  power  to  calm  the  sea  or  turn  water  into 
wine,  but  he  who  has  an  insight  into  human  hearts,  their 
needs  and  temptations  and  inherent  ideals;  whoever  has 
such  insight  is  our  spiritual  master,  even  if  he  be  physically 
the  most  impotent  of  mortals.  It  is  a  hysteron  proteron  to 
say  that  Christ's  teachings  must  be  true  because  they  are 
his  teachings;  we  should  rather  say  that  he  is  proved  a 
great  teacher  because  he  taught  what  we  see  to  be  so  true. 

(2)  But  if  spiritual  truth  must  be  tested  by  other  criteria 
than  its  source,  is  it  so  with  knowledge  of  facts?  Do  not 
Christ's  miracles  prove  his  supernatural  nature  and  there- 
fore afford  a  presumption  that  he  knew  more  than  we  do 
about  God,  the  human  soul  and  its  destiny,  and  other  mat- 
ters beyond  our  ken?  Unfortunately,  such  a  presumption  is 
overthrown  (quite  apart  from  our  doubts  as  to  the  actual- 
ity of  the  miracles)  by  the  fact  that  so  many  other  people  are 
reported  to  have  performed  equally  striking  miracles;  and 
their  teachings  do  not  agree.  How  can  the  orthodox  regard 
miracles  as  a  guaranty  of  the  correct  knowledge  of  a  teacher, 
when  the  Bible  itself  imputes  them  to  all  sorts  of  magicians 
and  miracle-mongers?  Should  we  credit  the  teachings  of 
the  Egyptian  wise  men  because  they  were  able  to  turn  their 
rods  into  serpents,  transform  the  waters  of  the  Nile  into 
blood,  and  bring  a  plague  of  frogs  upon  the  land?  l  The 
New  Testament  refers  in  several  places  to  miracles  wrought 
by  "false  prophets";  the  "sons  of  the  Pharisees"  were 
working  them,  as  Jesus  says.  How  then  do  they  give  any 
particular  authentication  to  Jesus'  teaching  rather  than  to 
that  of  these  others?2 

1  See  Exod.  7:  11-12,  22;  8:  7. 

2  See   Matt.   12:27;  7:22;   24:24.    Mark.   9:38-41.    Luke  9:  49-50. 
Acts  19: 113-15.  Rev.  13: 13-14;  16: 13-14;  19: 20. 


MIRACLES  291 

(3)  But  do  not  miracles  at  least  manifest  God's  goodness, 
since  they  were  usually  wrought  for  the  benefit  of  some 
sick  or  suffering  person?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  difficult  to 
reconcile  the  belief  in  miracles  with  the  belief  in  God's  good- 
ness. For  if  he  can  and  does  at  rare  intervals  allow  them, 
to  save  this  man  or  that,  why  does  he  not  allow  them 
oftener,  to  save  so  many  other  equally  innocent  victims  of 
undeserved  suffering?  So  few  saving  miracles  would  be  gross 
favoritism.  If  a  miraculous  draught  of  fishes  was  granted  to 
one  discouraged  band  of  fishermen,  why  not  to  thousands  of 
others  who  have  toiled  as  hard  and  gone  to  bed  hungry?  If 
one  leper  was  healed,  and  sent  on  his  way  rejoicing,  why 
not  all  the  wretched  sufferers  from  that  loathsome  disease? 
Such  a  little  intervention  might  so  often  have  averted  so 
many  unspeakable  horrors!  If  the  divine  order  permits  of 
miracles  at  all,  it  would  seem  as  if  God,  in  not  exercising 
this  power  oftener,  must  be  singularly  callous  and  hard- 
hearted. Again,  some  of  the  recorded  miracles,  while  of 
benefit  to  the  favored  person,  were  quite  unfairly  cruel  to 
others  who  had  to  suffer  therefrom.  For  example,  if  God  in- 
tervened with  a  miracle  to  enable  Joshua  and  his  host  to 
capture  the  city  of  Jericho,  it  was  hard  on  the  innocent 
women  and  children  in  the  city  who  were  put  to  the  sword. 
If  he  intervened  to  save  Peter  from  prison,  it  was  hard 
on  the  guards,  who,  though  really  not  at  fault,  were  there- 
upon, we  are  told,  put  to  death  by  Herod  for  dereliction  of 
duty.1 

(4)  About  the  only  miracle  that  would  seem  of  much 
worth  to  us  is  that  of  the  resurrection.  If  we  could  know 
beyond  possibility  of  doubt  that  Jesus  rose  superior  to  death, 
and  is  still  alive,  in  some  heavenly  sphere,  that  knowledge 
would  go  far  to  strengthen  our  faith  in  our  own  immortal- 
ity. Of  course,  most  of  those  who  believe  the  resurrection 
1  See  Joshua  6:  20-21.   Acts  12: 19. 


292  PHILOSOPHICAL 

stories  hold  Jesus  to  have  been  a  supernatural  Being,  whose 
continued  life  would  not  therefore  guarantee  ours;  while  if 
we  doubt  the  previous  miracles  stories,  which  prove  his 
supernatural  powers,  we  shall  be  likely  to  doubt  the  res- 
urrection stories  also.  Yet  to  have  evidence  of  life  after 
death,  even  in  a  unique  case,  gives  a  vast  stimulus  to  hope. 
To  be  sure,  we  may  well  continue  to  believe  Jesus  to  be 
immortally  living,  even  if  we  reject  these  stories;  but  we  shall 
no  longer  have  tangible  evidence  of  it.  The  genuine  ex- 
periences of  Paul  and  the  other  Apostles,  of  which  we  know 
so  little,  may  conceivably  have  been  purely  subjective,  and 
their  conviction  that  Christ  had  revealed  himself  to  them, 
or  "  in  them,"  an  illusion.  So  that  a  loss  of  confidence  in  the 
resurrection  stories  must  be  acknowledged  to  be  a  loss  of  no 
small  moment. 

What  should  be  our  attitude  toward  miracles? 

Certainly  our  attitude  toward  miracles  should  be  that  of 
the  open  mind;  to  refuse  to  listen  receptively  to  the  great 
mass  of  proffered  evidence  would  be  a  stupid  dogmatism. 
But  as  certainly  we  must,  in  the  present  state  of  the  evidence, 
render  a  verdict  of  "Not  proven";  many  would  be  inclined 
to  go  further  and  say,  "Not  even  very  plausible."  The 
main  current  of  contemporary  thought  is  setting  strongly 
against  belief  in  the  miraculous.  Once  men  believed  in 
Christ  because  they  accepted  the  fact  of  the  miracles;  now 
they  believe  in  miracles,  if  at  all,  because  they  have  accepted 
Christ,  and  suppose  the  belief  in  miracles  to  be  a  necessary 
corollary.  But  from  being  a  prop  of  faith,  they  have  become 
a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  faith.  That  being  the  case, 
it  is  at  the  least  a  tactical  error  on  the  part  of  Christian 
apologists  to  thrust  them  upon  their  would-be  converts. 
The  great  truths  of  Christianity  are  verifiable  now,  in  re- 
peatable  human  experience;  they  should  not  be  said  to  rest 


MIRACLES  293 

upon  marvels  that  are  alleged  to  have  happened  centuries 
ago  and  cannot  at  best  be  proved.  The  great  theologians 
have  seldom  leaned  hard  upon  miracles;  Christ  himself  is 
reported  to  have  shown  impatience  with  those  who  came  to 
him  seeking  for  a  miracle  as  a  sign,  and  to  have  told  them 
that  they  should  have  for  a  sign  only  a  summons  to  re- 
pentance.1 To-day  we  have  many  leaders  in  the  Church  who 
are  seeking  to  free  Christian  truth  from  the  embarrassment 
of  the  miraculous  element.2 

Finally,  we  may  insist  that  to  lose  belief  in  miracles  is  by 
no  means  to  lose  faith  in  God.  Surely  God  may  be  revealed 
as  clearly  in  the  normal  as  in  the  abnormal,  in  the  sweep  of 
the  cosmic  laws  as  in  interventions  that  break  them.  Some 
critics  have  even  ventured  to  suggest  that  miracles  would 
be  a  sort  of  patching  up  of  a  cosmos  that  needed  mending, 
and  find  them  incompatible  with  their  theology.  But  at  any 
rate,  supernaturalism  is  by  no  means  essential  to  Christian- 
ity. Matthew  Arnold  was  absolutely  right  when  he  wrote, 
in  a  well-known  passage,3  "Some  people,  when  they  have 
got  rid  of  the  preternatural  in  religion,  seem  to  think  that 
they  are  bound  to  get  rid  of  the  notion  of  there  being  any- 
thing grand  and  wonderful  in  religion  at  all;  at  any  rate,  to 
reduce  this  element  of  what  is  grand  and  wonderful  to  the 
very  smallest  dimensions.   They  err." 

Traditionalistic:  G.  P.  Fisher,  Grounds  of  Theistic  and  Christian 
Belief,  chaps,  vui-ix.  T.  J.  Dodd,  Miracles.  G.  P.  Mains,  Modern 
Thought  and  Traditional  Faith,  chap.  xiv.  W.  N.  Rice,  Christian 
Faith  in  an  Age  of  Science,  pt.  n.  J.  Wendland,  Miracles  and  Chris- 

1  Mark  8:11-12.  Matt.  16:1-4.  Luke  11:29:32.  In  the  duplicate 
passage  in  Matt.  12:  38-42,  some  editor  has  completely  mistaken  the  allu- 
sion and  inserted  a  ridiculous  interpretation  (vs.  40). 

2  Cf.,  for  example,  Gordon,  p.  7:  "My  plea  is  not  against  miracles, 
but  against  the  identification  of  the  fortune  of  religion  with  the  fortune 
of  miracle." 

3  God  and  the  Bible,  chap.  m. 


294  PHILOSOPHICAL 

tianity.  J.  H.  Newman,  Two  Essays  on  Miracles;  Apologia  pro 
vita  sua,  note  B.  A.  M.  Fairbairn,  Philosophy  of  the  Christian  Re- 
ligion, pp.  23-27. 

Modern:  M.  Arnold,  Literature  and  Dogma,  chap,  v;  God  and  the 
Bible,  chap.  i.  T.  H.  Huxley,  Hume,  chap,  vn;  Science  and  Christian' 
Tradition,  chaps,  v-vi.  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  p. 
27/.  A.  Sabatier,  Outlines  of  a  Philosophy  of  Religion,  bk.  i,  chap, 
in,  sees.  1-2.  G.  A.  Gordon,  Religion  and  Miracle.  G.  B.  Foster, 
Finality  of  the  Christian  Religion,  pp.  115-147.  J.  M.  E.  McTag- 
gart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Religion,  sees.  41-43.  American  Journal  of 
Theology,  vol.  8,  p.  240;  vol.  15,  p.  569.  Harvard  Theological  Review, 
vol.  3,  p.  143.  Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  12,  p.  162.  New  World,  vol.  5, 
p.  9.   See  also  references  in  footnotes  on  pp.  66  and  84. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CREATION  AND   DESIGN 

If  we  can  deduce  no  safe  theological  conclusions  from 
alleged  irregularities  in  nature,  can  we  do  so  from  the  regu- 
larity of  the  natural  order,  from  any  peculiar  phenomena 
which  it  includes,  or  from  the  sheer  fact  of  its  existence?  We 
shall  examine  some  current  inferences  of  this  sort. 

Can  we  draw  theological  inferences  from 

/.  The  sheer  existence  of  the  universe?  Many  have  held 
that  the  very  existence  of  the  universe,  with  its  causal 
order,  requires  us  to  postulate  God  as  its  creator;  here,  then, 
would  be  a  big  step  beyond  that  empirical  knowledge  of 
God  of  which  we  spoke  in  chapter  ix.  The  form  of  the 
argument  varies  with  its  various  exponents,  but  one  quo- 
tation must  suffice:  "No  movable  body  moves  itself.  A  does 
not  move  unless  acted  upon  by  B;  nor  can  B  move  A  unless 
preceded  by  C.  Somewhere  there  must  be  an  X  which  is  un- 
moved, and  yet  which  is  in  itself  sufficient  to  explain  the 
motion  in  D,  C,  B,  and  A.  If  X  is  not  given,  none  of  the 
series  will  move.  ...  At  last,  somewhere  or  other  in  this 
series,  we  are  forced  to  admit  the  existence  of  an  uncaused 
cause.  .  .  .  This  first  efficient  cause  we  call  God."  l  Gen- 
eralized, the  argument  is  that  every  event  must  have  had 
a  cause;  we  are  involved  then  in  an  endless  regress  unless 
we  can  get  back  to  some  First  Cause  which  needs  no  prior 
cause  to  explain  it.  Our  causal  chain  must  have  some  peg  to 
1  Aveling,  op.  cit.,  pp.  63-76. 


296  PHILOSOPHICAL 

hang  from;  only  in  the  creative  fiat  of  God  can  we  find  such 
a  satisfactory  end  to  our  search. 

(1)  But,  if  every  event  must  have  its  cause,  what  caused 
that  creative  fiat  of  God?  Must  we  not,  in  consistency, 
postulate  a  prior  cause  for  that  —  and  find  ourselves  still 
involved  in  the  endless  regress?  How  is  it  easier  to  account 
for  God  than  for  the  universe?  If  one  may  be  conceived  as 
eternal,  why  may  not  the  other?  If  God  can  exist  uncaused, 
why  may  not  the  other  realities?  The  universe  is,  at  bottom, 
an  inexplicable  fact;  but  to  postulate  another  and  equally 
inexplicable  fact  to  explain  it  leaves  us  with  as  many  ques- 
tions to  ask  as  before.  Putting  God  at  the  point  where  we 
cannot  read  history  any  farther  back,  because  we  crave 
some  explanation,  is  like  the  ancient  acceptance  of  the  belief 
in  a  gigantic  turtle  that  supported  the  earth.  Surely  the  earth 
must  have  some  support,  and  what  else  could  the  skeptic 
point  to?  But  how  did  they  know  it  was  a  turtle?  And  what 
supported  the  turtle?  So  we  may  ask  our  theologian:  How 
do  you  know  that  the  earth  was  created  by  God  ?  And  what 
created  God?  The  modern  inference  is  as  precarious,  as 
much  a  leap  in  the  dark,  as  the  ancient  one. 

(2)  Well,  then,  we  shall  be  asked,  how  else  did  the  universe 
come  into  being?  The  answer  is  simply  —  we  have  no  means 
of  knowing.  Perhaps  the  law  of  cause  and  effect  did  not 
always  hold  —  as,  indeed,  it  may  not  hold  everywhere  to- 
day; perhaps  the  world  just  began  to  be,  without  any  ante- 
cedent cause.  Or  perhaps  it  is  eternal.  Eternal  existence 
baffles  our  realization;  but  the  limitations  of  our  power  of 
clear  conception  should  not  bias  our  acceptance  of  concep- 
tual possibilities.  Or  the  world  may  be  the  product  of  many 
gods;  this  is,  indeed,  man's  earliest  idea,  and  in  spite  of  our 
predilection  for  unity,  there  is  no  proof  that  there  was  but 
one  first  cause.  The  idea  of  the  creation  of  the  world  by  God 
is  the  idea  which  comes  most  readily  to  most  of  us,  with  our 


CREATION  AND   DESIGN  297 

theistic  education;  it  is  the  most  consoling  and  emotionally 
satisfying  answer  to  the  question  how  the  world  came  into 
being.  But  it  has  no  more  evidence  in  its  favor  than  any  other 
answer,  and  may  not,  for  all  its  pleasing  associations,  be  the 
true  answer. 

(3)  Granted  that  there  must  be  a  first  cause,  what  right 
have  we  to  capitalize  it  into  a  First  Cause,  and  call  it  God? 
God  we  know  in  experience,  as  the  great  Power  making  for 
good.  What  right  have  we  to  identify  that  Power  with  the 
original  creative-power?  The  first  cause  may  have  been  a 
Devil,  or  a  non-rational  cause.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
farther  back  we  can  read  the  causal  process,  the  nearer  we 
get  —  not  to  God,  but  to  a  nebula,  scattered  atoms,  or  ether 
—  all  purely  material  states.  There  is  no  hint  that  we  should 
reach  any  other  kind  of  a  cause.  And  so  a  First  Cause,  even 
if  we  can  logically  assume  it,  and  even  if  we  choose  to  give 
it  the  name  God,  is  not  proved  to  be  what  we  mean  by  God 
in  experience;  it  is  only  a  force  at  the  beginning  of  things, 
not  necessarily  a  living,  present,  helpful,  or  good  God,  and 
so  of  no  interest  to  religion. 

In  a  word,  how  the  universe  came  into  existence,  or 
whether  it  has  always  existed,  we  do  not  know;  and  wherever 
we  are  ignorant,  imagination  readily  leaps  in  to  fill  the  void. 
Creation  by  an  intelligent  Being  is  a  conceivable  explana- 
tion; but  there  are  many  other  explanations  equally  con- 
ceivable, and  for  neither  the  one  nor  the  others  does  the 
mere  existence  of  the  cosmos  afford  the  least  evidence. 

77.  The  existence  of  certain  classes  of  facts.  But  do  not 
the  particular  characteristics  of  this  universe  of  ours  imply 
creation  by  an  intelligent  Being?  Theologians  have  thought 
to  find  such  an  implication  in  the  existence  of  natural  law, 
of  organic  life,  of  mental  life,  and  of  morality. 

(1)  Curiously  enough,  some  of  the  same  theologians  who 


298  PHILOSOPHICAL 

point  to  irregularities  in  the  natural  course  of  events  — 
i.e.,  miracles  —  as  a  witness  of  God,  point  also  to  the  regu- 
larity of  the  course  of  events  as  a  witness  of  God.  This  mar- 
velous mechanism,  they  say,  must  have  been  created  by  an 
Intelligence.  One  way  of  putting  it  is  to  say  that  "  natural 
law  implies  a  lawgiver."  That  is,  however,  a  palpable  play 
on  words.  For  the  term  "  natural  law  "  is  merely  a  metaphor 
for  the  uniformities  which  we  find  in  the  sequence  of  events; 
and  uniformities  of  behavior  do  not  imply  a  lawgiver,  but 
may  be  quite  spontaneous  or  produced  by  non-intelligent 
causes.  Another  play  on  words  has  it  that  the  "  objective 
reason"  or  "rationality  "  of  the  world  presupposes  a  "  sub- 
jective reason"  or  "intelligence  "  as  its  source.  This  so-called 
"rationality  "  of  the  world  turns  out  to  mean,  again,  only 
its  orderliness,  its  mechanistic  character,  which  may  not  be 
imposed  upon  it  from  without  at  all.  The  fact  that  the  uni- 
verse is  a  marvelously  intricate  structure,  which  we  can 
to  some  degree  map  in  our  minds,  comprehend,  and  master, 
cannot  logically  afford  the  inference  that  that  intricate  and 
intelligible  structure  was  planned  and  moulded  by  an  ante- 
cedent Mind.  Perhaps  this  complex  world-life  has  evolved, 
unplanned  and  unforeseen,  through  the  simple  but  uniform 
habits  of  its  innumerable  component  parts,  which  have  be- 
come gradually  more  and  more  intricately  intermingled.1 

1  This  argument  merges  into  a  consideration  of  the  problem  of  knowl- 
edge; and  all  sorts  of  theories  have  been  constructed  around  the  assump- 
tion that  the  intelligibility  of  the  world  must  be  the  work  of  Intelligence. 
Into  these  deep  philosophical  waters  we  cannot  here  go.  But  let  me  quote 
a  typical  writer  of  this  sort,  B.  P.  Bowne.  He  speaks  of  the  "numerical 
exactness  of  mathematical  processes,"  and  asserts  that  "the  truly  mathe- 
matical is  the  work  of  the  spirit."  The  atheist  has  to  "assume  a  power 
which  produces  the  intelligible  and  rational,  without  being  itself  intelli- 
gent and  rational.  .  .  .  There  is  no  proper  explanation  except  in  theism." 
(Theism,  pp.  67-70.)  "Things  which  are  to  be  known  must  exist  in  intel- 
ligible, that  is,  rational,  order  and  relations.  The  world  as  we  grasp  it  is 
a  world  of  thought  relations;  for  thought  can  grasp  nothing  else.  Now  if  the 
real  world  were  an  expression  of  thought,  this  would  be  quite  intelligible. 


CREATION  AND  DESIGN  299 

(2)  But  do  we  not,  then,  need  to  assume  the  hand  of 
God  to  account  for  the  existence  of  organic  life  on  earth? 
or  of  psychic  life?  or  of  moral  life?  "  Organic  life  had  a  be- 
ginning in  the  material  universe.  But  life  could  not  have  its 
origin  in  mere  material  forces.  Therefore  that  origin  is  to 
be  assigned  to  the  action  of  a  living  being  altogether  differ- 
ent and  extraneous  to  that  matter  which  it  endowed  with 
the  various  substantial  principles  of  life."  l  Again,  "this 
rare  and  lonely  endowment  [human  intelligence]  must 
have  its  roots  in  the  universe.  .  .  .  The  problem  then  arises 
how  to  deduce  the  conscious  from  the  unconscious,  the  in- 
telligent from  the  non-intelligent.  .  .  .  The  more  clearly  we 
conceive  physical  elements  or  processes,  the  more  clearly 
we  perceive  the  impossibility  of  such  a  transition."  2  Again, 
"He  that  implanted  in  man  an  unalterable  reverence  for 
righteousness,  shall  not  he  himself  be  righteous?  This  in- 
ference is  so  spontaneous  and  immediate  that  it  is  seldom 
questioned  when  the  moral  interest  is  strong  and  thought 
is  clear.  ...  As  there  is  no  known  way  of  deducing  intelli- 
gence from  non-intelligence,  so  there  is  no  known  way  of  de- 
ducing the  moral  from  the  non-moral."  3 

These  three  arguments  are  alike  in  alleging  the  necessity 

The  world  without  exists  through  a  mind  analogous  to  the  mind  within.  .  .  . 
But  on  the  atheistic  scheme  the  thing-world  has  no  thought  whatever  in  it. 
It  just  exists  in  its  own  mechanical  way.  .  .  .  But  in  that  case  there  is  no 
way  to  thought  at  all,  and  still  less  is  there  any  provision  for  knowledge." 
(Ibid,  pp.  132-33.)  An  introductory  survey  like  the  present  volume  can- 
not afford  the  space  to  discuss  the  epistemological  problem,  about  which 
many  bulky  volumes  have  been  written.  It  must  suffice  to  refer  the  reader 
to  such  books  as  Perry's  Present  Philosophical  Tendencies,  or  the  coopera- 
tive volume,  The  New  Realism,  or  Fullerton's  The  World  We  Live  In,  or 
Strong's  Why  the  Mind  has  a  Body,  as  illustrations  of  the  contemporary 
tendency  to  abandon  all  of  this  older  epistemological  theory.  According  to 
the  reigning  modes  of  philosophic  thought  there  is  no  logical  inference  to 
theism  to  be  found  in  the  fact  of  knowledge. 

1  Avcling,  op.  cit.,  p.  134.  2  Bowne,  op.  cit.,  p.  120. 

3  Ibid.,  pp.  251-52. 


300  PHILOSOPHICAL 

of  an  interposition  by  God  in  the  natural  course  of  evolution 
in  order  to  account  for  the  origin  of  these  particular  develop- 
ments. They  are  based  upon  our  supposed  inability  to  ex- 
plain the  higher  stages  from  the  action  of  the  forces  present 
at  the  earlier  stages.  They  are  purely  negative  arguments, 
then,  offering  no  positive  sign  of  an  interposed  divine  fiat, 
and  no  explanation  of  how  or  where  such  an  intervention 
took  place.  They  are  based  purely  upon  our  present  igno- 
rance, and  have  the  weakness  of  all  such  arguments  —  no 
one  can  say  how  soon  we  may  find  a  clue  which  shall  sug- 
gest a  purely  natural  transition  from  lower  to  higher  stages. 
In  view  of  the  absence  of  any  assured  sign  of  intervention 
in  the  natural  order  in  our  own  times,  and  the  absence  of  posi- 
tive evidence  for  such  intervention  at  these  remote  points  in 
the  process,  the  arguments  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  more 
than  plausible  conjectures. 

But  more  than  that,  we  are  finding  continuity  in  so  many 
places  where  men  formerly  assumed  breaks  in  the  natural 
course  of  development,  that  a  pretty  strong  presumption 
arises  that  we  shall  ultimately  be  able  to  explain  the  whole 
cosmic  process  in  terms  of  natural  law  —  or,  at  least,  that 
the  natural  law  is  there,  whether  or  not  we  shall  ever  be 
able  to  formulate  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there  are  already 
in  the  field  "mechanical"  theories  of  organic  life,  i.e., 
theories  which  account  for  it  in  terms  of  known  physical 
and  chemical  laws;  such  theories  have  won  widespread 
acceptance  among  biologists.  And  organic  life  of  a  low  order, 
or  something  of  the  sort,  seems  to  have  actually  been  brought 
into  existence  out  of  non-living  matter  in  the  laboratory. 
The  line  between  organic  life  and  the  activities  of  "non- 
living matter"  is  so  exceedingly  fine,  that  biologists  differ, 
in  borderland  cases,  as  to  what  shall  be  considered  "life" 
and  what  not;  and  no  student  can  come  away  from  a  survey 
of  these  phenomena  without  at  least  suspecting  that  they 


CREATION   AND   DESIGN  301 

are  all  purely  natural,  that  "living"  organisms  are  simply 
a  more  complex  form  of  the  universal  restless  activity  of 
the  cosmic  substance.  And  finally,  if  "law"  does  not  pre- 
vail through  all  this  process  of  increasing  complexification, 
the  intervening  factor  may  be  "entelechy,"  "chance,"  "free 
will,"  or  what  not.  The  "vitalists"  who  oppose  the  con- 
ception of  a  completely  mechanistic  universe  by  no  means 
all  draw  theistic  inferences;  it  is  the  theologians  who,  while 
knowing  little  themselves  of  the  phenomena  in  question, 
seize  upon  their  anti-mechanical  arguments  to  draw  there- 
from a  rather  far-fetched  conclusion. 

The  question  of  the  origin  of  mind  takes  us  over  into  the 
realm  of  metaphysics,  where  all  is  as  yet  confusion.  But 
here  again  it  must  be  said  that  few  of  the  current  philo- 
sophical theories  lead  over  into  theistic  inferences.  The 
writer  of  this  volume  has  elsewhere  hinted  at  a  way  in  which 
the  origin  of  consciousness  may  be  conceived  in  terms  of 
natural  law,1  and  hopes  to  return  to  the  subject  in  a  future 
volume.  The  whole  problem  of  the  nature  of  consciousness 
and  its  relation  to  the  material  world  is  as  yet  so  unsettled 
that  no  safe  inferences  can  be  drawn  one  way  or  the  other.2 

As  to  the  origin  of  morality  out  of  a  non-moral  back- 
ground, any  scientific  treatise  on  ethics  will  show  conclu- 
sively that  there  is  no  need  of  assuming  any  supernatural 
intervention.3  So  that  we  must  admit  that  our  knowledge 
of  God  is  not  to  be  furthered  through  any  inferences  that 
we  can  at  present  draw  from  the  apparent  jumps  in  the 
evolutionary  process. 

(3)  There  is,  however,  an  assumption  behind  these  cur- 

1  In  a  dissertation,  The  Problem  of  Things  in  Themselves  (Ellis,  Boston, 
1911). 

2  This  problem  would  require,  again,  too  much  space  to  take  up  here. 
See  the  books  mentioned  in  the  footnote  on  p.  299. 

s  Cf.  the  present  writer's  Problems  of  Conduct,  pt.  i;  or  Dewey  and 
Tufts,  Ethics,  pt.  i;  or  Herbert  Spencer,  Data  of  Ethics,  chaps,  i-vm. 


302  PHILOSOPHICAL 

rent  arguments  that  may  still  linger  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  It  is,  that  results  cannot  be  "higher"  than  their 
causes — "shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  maker?" 
Aveling  makes  this  assumption  explicit  in  the  words,"  "An 
effect  requires  a  proportionate  cause.  .  .  .  The  essential 
perfection  of  the  effect  preexists  in  the  cause."  l  But  have 
we  not  daily  examples  of  effects  more  precious  than  their 
causes?  A  beautiful  flower  grows  from  an  uninteresting  seed, 
a  lovely  child  from  an  ugly  foetus.  If  you  point  out  that, 
tracing  the  process  a  little  further  back,  the  flower  and  the 
child  come  from  a  similar  flower  and  human  being,  we  can 
reply  that,  tracing  the  process  still  further  back,  the  flower 
comes  from  some  flowerless  form  of  vegetation,  and  the  hu- 
man child  from  an  ape-like  brute.  Everything  of  most  worth 
in  our  life  has  sprung,  visibly,  from  dissimilar  and  humbler 
beginnings.  Why  may  not  this  be  the  case  with  the  evolu- 
tionary process  as  a  whole;  why  may  not  our  earthly  life, 
with  its  intricate  diversity  and  richness  of  interest,  be  a 
flowering-out  of  the  world-process  into  something  never 
attained  before?  At  any  rate,  it  is  pure  assumption  to  say 
that  effects  can  be  no  better  than  their  causes;  we  might  as 
well  say  that  they  can  be  no  worse  —  in  which  case  we 
should  be  led  to  postulate  a  Devil  as  creator,  to  account 
for  what  is  evil,  instead  of  a  God  to  account  for  what  is 
good  and  beautiful. 

7/7.  Marks  of  design  or  purpose?  A  far  more  plausible 
argument  than  any  of  the  foregoing  is  that  which  draws 
from  the  apparent  marks  of  design  in  the  universe  an  infer- 
ence that  it  was  created  by  Intelligence.  In  so  many  cases, 
it  is  said,  rational,  desirable  ends  are  attained  by  the  intri- 
cate combination  of  causes  not  themselves  intelligent  or 
capable  of  consciously  cooperating,  that  we  have  no  choice 
but  to  assume  a  Master-hand  behind  the  process.    We  are 

1  Op.  tit.,  p.  78. 


CREATION  AND  DESIGN  303 

equipped,  for  example,  with  eyes  for  seeing,  with  ears  for 
hearing,  and  with  the  most  delicate  machinery  for  procur- 
ing our  survival  and  happiness ;  water  is  provided  for  us  to 
drink,  air  for  us  to  breathe,  beautiful  scenes  to  delight  our 
hearts.  Surely  it  is  absurd  to  say  that  such  a  carefully  ad- 
justed world  came  into  being  by  the  cooperation  of  blind 
forces.  May  we  not  then  assume  with  confidence  that  God 
is  Creator  of  the  universe? 

This  forcible  argument,  in  its  current  forms,  is  analyz- 
able  into  three  strands,  which  we  may  examine  in  turn:  — 

(1)  The  first,  and  weakest,  strand  is  an  argument  from 
analogy.  In  Paley's  famous  parable,1  a  watch  is  discovered 
upon  a  desert  island;  though  there  be  no  other  trace  of 
human  life,  the  finder  knows  that  a  complex  mechanism  of 
that  sort,  adapted  to  a  rational  use,  must  have  been  made 
by  an  intelligent  being.  How  much  more  surely,  then,  can 
we  infer  that  the  universe,  so  much  more  complex  and  won- 
derful, and  attaining  so  much  more  glorious  ends,  was  cre- 
ated by  a  greater  Intelligence! 

But  an  argument  from  analogy  is  always  precarious.  It 
may  be,  for  all  the  analogy  can  prove,  that  some  kinds  of 
complex  mechanisms,  like  the  watch,  are  created  by  intelli- 
gence, while  other  kinds,  like  flowers  and  animals,  and  the 
universe  as  a  whole,  have  come  into  existence  in  other  ways. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  should  not  judge  the  watch  to  be 
a  product  of  intelligence  on  any  such  inferential  grounds; 
we  know  empirically  that  watches  are  made  by  men,  and 
do  not  grow,  like  flowers  and  animals.  But  we  have  no  such 
empirical  knowledge  of  intelligence  as  concerned  with  the 
creation  of  these  other  complex  mechanisms.  Hence  we 
must  pass  over  this  analogical  form  of  the  argument  and 
consider,  more  at  length,  the  causal  argument. 

(2)  It  is  not  conceivable  that  this  cooperation  between 

1  Natural  Theology,  vol.  i,  chaps,  i-iii. 


304  PHILOSOPHICAL 

thousands  of  unintelligent  factors  to  produce  a  valuable 
adjustment  should  be  a  mere  matter  of  chance.  Democritus, 
lacking  a  Darwinian  conception,  and  unwilling  to  assume 
a  Providence,  felt  obliged  to  assert  that  eyes  and  ears,  and 
all  the  other  delicately  adjusted  organs,  were  the  fortuitous 
result  of  the  blind  whirl  of  atoms.  But  this  is  as  grotesque 
a  supposition  as  to  hold  that  a  bag  of  printer's  types,  flung 
down  ever  so  many  million  times,  would  eventually  happen 
to  fall  into  just  the  right  order  to  form  the  text  of  this  vol- 
ume. If  our  canons  of  cause  and  effect  hold  in  these  matters 
at  all,  there  must  be  some  cause  adequate  to  account  for  the 
assembling  and  adjustment  of  the  thousands  of  parts  of 
these  intricate  organs.  The  logical  Method  of  Agreement, 
discovering  that  the  only  point  in  which  all  of  these  diverse 
elements  agree  is  in  their  function  of  conducing  to  the  use- 
fulness of  the  organ,  suggests  that  the  cause  of  the  formation 
of  these  organs  has  something  to  do  with  their  use.  But  the 
usefulness  of  the  eye  (for  example)  is  subsequent  to  its  for- 
mation and  so  cannot  itself  be  the  cause  sought.  What  then 
can  that  cause  be  but  a  design-to-cause- the-ability-to-see? 
We  may  not  be  able  to  see  how  or  where  this  conscious 
intention  got  in  its  work;  but  unless  some  other  equally 
plausible  cause  is  suggested,  must  we  not  assume  it  as  the 
only  alternative  to  the  inconceivable  hypothesis  of  mere 
chance  aggregation? 

No.  Because  another  cause  has  been  pointed  out,  which 
is  not  merely  plausible,  but  is  actually  known  to  exist.  This 
is  the-fact-that-better-and-better-eyes  (or,  approximations- 
to-eyes)-conduce-better-to-survival.  In  the  reproductive 
process,  wherethrough  all  organisms  come  into  existence, 
innumerable  obscure  physical  forces  are  at  work  producing 
innumerable  slight  variations;  offspring  are  not  quite  exactly 
like  their  parents.  In  the  struggle  for  existence  between  the 
members  of  a  given  generation,  those  will  tend  to  outlive 


CREATION  AND   DESIGN  305 

the  others,  and  so  reproduce  their  particular  type,  whose 
variation  has  given  them  any  sort  of  advantage  over  their 
rivals.  A  slight  sensitiveness  to  light  would  be  such  an  ad- 
vantage; any  physiological  change  that  chanced  to  produce  a 
greater  responsiveness  to  differences  in  light  would  give  its 
possessor  a  superiority.  Thus,  as  thousands  of  generations 
kept  providing  varying  types,  that  type  would  (other  things 
being  equal)  tend  to  survive  which  had  in  each  case  the  best 
developed  organ  that  responded  to  light-waves.  And  so  by 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  slight  steps,  each  a  lucky  variation 
out  of  thousands  of  useless  or  harmful  ones,  the  delicately 
adjusted  eyes  of  existing  animals  would  be  formed.  This 
blind  process,  called  Natural  Selection,  working  through  in- 
telligible physical  laws,  automatically  discards  the  myriad 
useless  experiments  which  organisms  in  their  exuberant  fer- 
tility are  producing,  and  preserves  for  future  development 
those  few  variations  that  chance  to  be  steps  in  the  right 
direction.  Or,  in  other  words,  useful  variations  tend,  in  a 
purely  mechanical  way,  to  ensure  their  own  survival;  and 
an  accumulation  of  useful  variations  leads  ultimately  to  any 
degree  of  intricate  development. 

It  is  true  that  biologists  cannot  yet  explain  in  detail  every 
case  of  adaptation  in  terms  of  this  process.  But  every  year 
clears  up  some  hitherto  obscure  steps;  and  there  are  few 
biologists  but  are  led  by  their  observations  to  the  conviction 
that  all  the  manifold  adjustments  of  organic  forms  will  ulti- 
mately be  explained  in  these  terms.  Moreover,  the  appar- 
ent adjustments  of  inorganic  nature  to  the  needs  of  or- 
ganic forms  can  be  explained  in  terms  of  the  adjustment  of 
the  organisms  to  inorganic  nature.  That  is,  instead  of  mar- 
veling, for  example,  that  the  earth's  atmosphere  should  have 
just  the  right  proportions  of  oxygen,  carbonic  acid  gas,  etc., 
to  maintain  the  organic  life  which  exists  upon  its  surface, 
we  can  point  out  that  organic  life  has  come  to  be  of  such  a 


306  PHILOSOPHICAL 

nature  as  to  utilize  precisely  such  proportions  of  gases  be- 
cause it  has  crept  into  existence  under  those  conditions.  On 
another  planet,  where  much  more  C02  exists,  living  forms, 
if  any  have  there  come  into  existence,  will  be  of  such  a  na- 
ture as  to  thrive  on  a  greater  proportion  of  that  gas. 

The  causal  argument,  therefore,  loses  all  its  cogency. 
Where  a  known  cause  is  sufficient,  or  probably  sufficient, 
to  account  for  given  phenomena,  it  is  illogical  to  infer  an- 
other and  unseen  cause.  Moreover,  Natural  Selection  ac- 
counts for  all  the  failures,  all  the  maladjustments,  all  the 
hit-or-miss  character  of  the  process,  as  the  theological 
hypothesis  does  not.  It  is  still  possible  to  believe  that 
God  stands  back  of  the  whole  evolutionary  process;  but 
the  supposed  evidence  of  his  causal  activity  vanished,  once 
Natural  Selection  was  proved  to  be  a  vera  causa.  It  is  some- 
times said  that  the  Argument  from  Design  can  be  restated 
in  terms  of  Evolution.  That  is  not  true  of  this  causal  argu- 
ment. The  belief  in  God's  creative  activity  may  indeed  be 
retained,  but  it  becomes  pure  assumption;  the  argument  is 
gone. 

(3)  The  third  form  of  the  argument  rests  upon  the  pres- 
ence of  values  in  the  world.  We  may  not  need  to  assume  a 
supernatural  agency  to  account  for  the  mutual  adaptations 
of  organisms  and  environment  considered  merely  as  physical 
facts;  but  when  we  see  what  precious  values  emerge  here  at 
the  end  of  this  apparently  blind  process,  are  we  not  irre- 
sistibly led  to  suppose  that  God,  in  his  infinite  goodness  and 
wisdom,  planned  and  initiated  the  whole  process? 

But  consider,  first,  the  clumsiness  and  cruelty  of  the 
method  employed.  Does  it  look  like  the  work  of  infinite 
goodness  and  wisdom  to  make  a  thousand  useless  forms  for 
every  one  that  is  of  use,  to  kill  off  a  thousand  young  crea- 
tures, equally  endowed  with  the  craving  for  life,  for  every 
one  that  can  survive?  The  process  is  infinitely  more  waste- 


CREATION  AND  DESIGN  307 

ful  than  the  Chinese  method  of  getting  roast  pig,  in  Charles 
Lamb's  famous  tale.  It  is  as  if  a  man,  ignorant  of  what 
constituted  the  target,  were  to  fire  in  all  directions  at  ran- 
dom until  eventually,  by  mere  chance,  he  hit  it.  The  more 
closely  one  studies  the  evolutionary  process,  the  more  it 
seems  a  blind  struggle,  and  the  less  it  suggests  an  intelligent 
creator.  Millions  of  ill-adapted  creatures  have  prematurely 
perished  for  one  that  was  lucky  enough  to  live  long  enough  to 
reproduce  its  type.  We,  the  handful  of  fortunate  survivors 
of  this  age-long  struggle,  assume  that  it  was  all  intended  for 
our  benefit.  So  might  some  microbes,  borne  about  by  the 
air  currents  till  they  fell  into  a  glass  of  milk,  assume  with 
complacent  thankfulness  that  that  congenial  home  was 
designed  by  a  benevolent  Creator  for  their  needs.  But  how 
about  the  millions  of  similar  microbes  that  the  winds  blew 
elsewhere  to  perish?  x  Cicero  tells  us  of  a  temple  of  Poseidon 
where  were  hung  many  votive  tablets  offered  in  gratitude 
by  those  who  had  been  saved  from  shipwreck.  "  But  where," 
said  a  visitor, "  are  the  offerings  of  those  who  were  not  saved?  " 
In  short,  our  complacency  is  like  that  of  the  prize-winners  in 
a  lottery;  the  process  seems  to  us  benevolent  because  we 
are  the  favored  survivors.  If  we  could  look  through  the  eyes 
of  the  myriads  that  have  fallen  by  the  way,  we  should  not 
see  any  evidences  of  creative  wisdom  or  love;  we  should  see 
nothing  but  a  merciless  doom. 

Consider  further  the  very  partial  nature  of  the  success  at- 
tained even  with  us  who  have  survived.  Even  to-day,  after 
millenniums  of  elimination  of  the  unfit,  the  bodies  of  the  best 
of  us  carry  round  a  hundred  marks  of  our  hit-or-miss  origin, 
vestiges  of  organs  which,  useful  to  our  remote  ancestors, 
serve  no  present  use  and  are  often  of  great  danger  to  us  in  our 
present  conditions  of  life.  The  vermiform  appendix,  the 
cause  of  appendicitis,  is  perhaps  the  best- known  instance; 
1  This  illustration  is  Paulsen's. 


308  PHILOSOPHICAL 

but  even  our  most  useful  and  most  admired  organs  are  bur- 
dened with  useless  inheritances  and  imperfectly  adapted  to 
their  work.  Man  is  too  limited  in  his  powers  to  reproduce 
these  extraordinarily  complex  and  highly  unstable  forms 
which  nature,  working  with  her  vast  forces  through  the 
ages,  has  brought  into  existence;  but  given  the  power,  he 
could  much  improve  upon  her  handiwork.  Of  all  organs  the 
eye  is  the  most  admired;  but  Nature,  as  the  great  physiolo- 
gist Helmholz  said,  "  seems  to  have  packed  this  organ  with 
mistakes,  as  if  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  destroying 
any  possible  foundation  for  the  theory  that  organs  are  [in- 
tentionally] adapted  to  their  environment."  And  how  many 
organs,  or  developments  of  existing  organs,  do  we  lack  which 
would  be  of  the  greatest  value  to  us!  Look  at  the  great  ma- 
jority of  men,  heirs  of  all  the  ages:  dull  of  vision  they  are, 
cloudy  in  mind,  torn  by  passion,  uncomely  to  look  at, 
hardly  capable  of  reason  or  of  virtue,  stumbling  blindly  for- 
ward, but  unequally  matched  against  a  baffling  and  tor- 
menting environment.  Look  at  the  idiots,  the  deformed,  the 
repulsively  ugly,  the  underwitted.  How  many  successes 
have  there  been,  and  how  many  failures;  or  what  degree 
of  success  has  been  attained  in  the  best  of  us? 

Again,  consider  what  seems  to  be  the  end  designed.  Is  it 
human  happiness,  or  virtue?  Or  the  happiness  of  the  whole 
sentient  creation?  Frankly,  the  marks  of  design,  if  such 
they  are,  do  not  point  in  that  direction.  If  pleasure  has  been 
attained,  so  has  pain;  it  looks  as  if  both  were  but  incidental, 
chance  means  to  the  end  of  mere  survival.  Nothing  seems 
more  clearly  designed  than  rattlesnakes'  fangs,  tigers'  claws, 
the  suctorial  organs  of  bedbugs  and  mosquitoes  and  fleas. 
Many  adaptations  ensure  a  living  being's  welfare;  but  many 
others,  that  show  as  clear  marks  of  design,  ensure  his  suffer- 
ing and  death.1  Creatures  are  made  to  prey  upon  and  devour 
1  Cf.  Mill,  Nature:  "If  a  tenth  part  of  the  pains  which  have  been  ex- 


CREATION  AND   DESIGN  309 

one  another,  parasites  are  ingeniously  adapted  to  live  upon 
our  entrails,  insects  to  sting  us,  the  germs  of  smallpox  and 
cholera  and  tuberculosis,  and  a  thousand  other  diseases, 
are  admirably  fitted  to  feed  and  thrive  at  our  expense 
within  our  bodies.  The  Designer,  then,  would  seem  to  be 
interested  only  in  adjustments  for  their  own  sake,  and 
callous  to  the  suffering  they  often  produce.  Do  we  wish  to 
believe  in  a  Designer  of  such  a  character  as  we  can  legiti- 
mately infer  from  a  study  of  the  things  designed?  * 

To  discover  the  character  of  a  Creator  we  must  judge 
by  the  ends  attained  and  the  means  employed.  To  find 
marks  of  design,  infer  a  creator,  and  then  assume  that  that 
Creator  is  to  be  identified  with  the  God  whom  we  worship, 
is  a  non  sequitur.  Plato  was  much  more  cautious,  in  postu- 
lating a  Demiurge,  or  Creator,  quite  distinct  from  his  God; 
the  latter  existed  not  as  a  first  and  efficient  cause  of  things, 
but  as  a  goal  or  magnet  toward  which  the  creation  was  being 
irresistibly  drawn.  But  indeed,  to  speak  of  existing  phenom- 

pended  in  finding  benevolent  adaptations  in  nature  had  been  employed 
in  collecting  evidence  to  blacken  the  character  of  the  Creator,  what  scope 
for  comment  would  not  have  been  found." 

1  Cf.  James,  Varieties  of  Religions  Experience,  p.  438:  "Conceived  as  we 
now  conceive  them,  as  so  many  fortunate  escapes  from  almost  limitless 
processes  of  destruction,  the  benevolent  adaptations  which  we  find  in  Na- 
ture suggest  a  deity  very  different  from  the  one  who  figured  in  the  earlier 
versions  of  the  argument." 

And  Mill,  Theism,  pt.  n:  "The  greater  part  of  the  design  of  which  there 
is  indication  in  nature,  however  wonderful  its  mechanism,  is  no  evidence  of 
any  moral  attributes,  because  the  end  to  which  it  is  directed,  and  its 
adaptation  to  which  end  is  the  evidence  of  its  being  directed  to  an  end  at 
all,  is  not  a  moral  end ;  it  is  not  the  good  of  any  sentient  creature,  it  is  but 
the  qualified  permanence,  for  a  limited  period,  of  the  work  itself." 

And  Paulsen,  op.  cit.,  bk.  I,  chap,  n:  "Pleasure  and  pain  are  .  .  .  means 
to  the  preservation  of  life.  The  animal  is  impelled  by  pain  to  escape  injury 
and  destruction,  enticed  by  pleasure  to  seek  what  is  useful  and  tends  to 
preservation.  And  as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  biologist  would  add,  nature  em- 
ploys both  means  without  preference.  If,  however,  one  of  them  is  pre- 
ferred, it  is  most  likely  pain  rather  than  pleasure.  .  .  .  How  can  the  [mere] 
existence  of  all  these  forms  of  life  be  the  end  of  a  mind  similar  to  our  own?" 


310  PHILOSOPHICAL 

ena  as  "ends  attained"  is  to  beg  the  whole  question.  A 
teleological  interpretation  of  desirable  or  interesting  facts 
is  always  alluring,  but  it  cannot  be  more  than  a  conjecture. 
And  logically,  the  evil  events  are  equally  susceptible  of 
teleological  interpretation.  The  eruption  of  Mont  Pelee 
and  the  earthquake  at  Messina  can  be  considered  as  ends 
very  nicely  attained  by  the  evolutionary  process;  the  con- 
jecture that  such  catastrophes  were  designed  stands  on  the 
same  level  with  the  conjecture  that  our  blessings  were  de- 
signed. And  so,  until  a  satisfactory  solution  can  be  found  for 
the  problem  of  evil,  it  is  a  very  dubious  inference  that  one 
would  draw  from  the  ends  actually  attained  in  this  world, 
and  the  method  by  which  they  are  attained,  to  an  In- 
telligence planning  and  producing  them. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  logical  weakness  of  the  ar- 
gument and  the  dubious  conclusion  to  which,  if  consistently 
carried  out,  it  would  apparently  lead,  most  men  will  con- 
tinue to  have,  in  their  happier  moments,  an  instinctive 
sense  that  so  wonderful  a  world  must  have  its  origin  in 
intelligence,  and  so  beautiful  a  world  in  love.  'When  we 
call  before  us  the  full  sweep  of  the  world's  advance  from  the 
time  when  it  was  a  mere  whirling  and  fiery  mist,  and  see 
how  marvellously  out  of  its  seeming  chaos  there  grows  order 
and  intricate  regularity,  how  the  wonders  of  plant  and 
brute  life  come  into  being,  how  finally  man  appears,  the 
paragon  of  animals,  with  eyes  to  see  the  beauty  of  the 
world  and  reason  to  bring  its  forces  into  subjection,  and, 
most  of  all,  with  the  power  to  create  the  ideal  world  of  truth 
and  honor,  righteousness  and  love ;  when  we  see  these  super- 
sensible ideals  more  and  more  ruling  his  life,  till  we  have  the 
promise  of  a  society  wherein  the  poet's  dream  and  the 
prophet's  forecasting  shall  be  an  actual  thing,  —  when  all 
this,  I  say,  comes  before  us,  it  is  not  easy  to  resign  ourselves 


CREATION  AND   DESIGN  311 

to  say  that  all  has  merely  happened  so."  l  The  dystele- 
ologies  in  the  world  do  not  disprove  a  benevolent  Designer, 
they  simply  counteract  the  evidence  that  we  gather  else- 
where for  his  existence.  It  is  possible  to  conceive  of  other 
facts  which,  if  they  exist,  render  the  existing  universe  com- 
patible with  the  idea  of  design  by  Benevolence.2  These 
facts,  being  merely  conjectural,  cannot  be  used  as  evidence; 
but  their  possibility  leaves  a  loophole  for  faith. 

First-cause  argument:  Pro:  W.  N.  Clarke,  Outline  of  Christian 
Theology,  9th  ed.,  pp.  109-13.  H.  Schultz,  Outline  of  Christian 
Apologetics,  p.  103/.  F.  Aveling,  God  of  Philosophy,  chaps,  v-vn. 
Con:  J.  M.  E.  McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  oj  Christianity,  sees. 
156-60.  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  35-41.  G.  Gallo- 
way, Philosophy  of  Religion,  pp.  387-89.  J.  G.  Schurman,  Belief 
in  God,  lecture  iv.  J.  S.  Mill,  Theism,  pt.  I.  W.  H.  Mallock,  Re- 
ligion as  a  Credible  Doctrine,  chap.  vni. 

Special  Phenomena:  Pro:  Clarke,  op.  cit,  pp.  105-09.  Schultz, 
p.  108/.,  114  Jf.  Aveling,  op.  cit.,  chap,  vni,  xi,  and  p.  133  Jf. 
B.P.  Bowne,  Theism,  pp.  67-75,  119-22,  127-34,  251-54.  A.  M. 
Fairbairn,  Philosophy  of  the  Christian  Religion,  pp.  48-55.  Con: 
Mallock,  op.  cit.,  chaps,  ii-iii. 

Design:  Pro:  Aveling,  op.  cit.,  chap.  ix.  Clarke,  pp.  113-17. 
Schultz,  p.  105  ff.  Bowne,  op.  cit.,  pp.  75-119.  G.  P.  Fisher, 
Grounds  of  Theistic  and  Christian  Belief,  p.  30  ff.  J.  G.  Schurman, 
Belief  in  God,  lecture  v.  A.  R.  Wallace,  The  World  of  Life;  A 
Manifestation  of  Creative  Purpose,  Directive  Mind,  and  Ultimate 
Purpose.  H.  K.  Rogers,  Religious  Conception  of  the  World,  pp.  93- 
120.  Con:  Mill,  op.  cit.,  last  part  of  pt.  i,  pt.  n.  Mallock,  op.  cit., 
chap.  ix.  McTaggart,  op.  cit.,  sees.  161-65,  196-207.  F.  Paulsen, 
Introduction  to  Philosophy,  bk.  i.,  chap.  n.  F.  C.  S.  Schiller, 
Humanism,  vni. 

1  Rogers,  op.  cit,  pp.  97-98.  2  See,  e.g.,  pp.  380-82. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE 

Modern  theology  shows  a  widespread  tendency  to  aban- 
don the  older  lines  of  inference,  that  drew  conclusions  from 
the  existence  or  characteristics  of  the  outer  world,  and  to 
base  its  theory  now  upon  the  spiritual  experience  of  man- 
kind. Such  a  procedure  has  been  adopted  in  this  volume 
as  the  only  method  that  promises  to  be  fruitful;  the  psy- 
chological phenomena  surveyed  in  Part  II  are  the  data 
which  theology  has  to  work  with.  But  the  correct  descrip- 
tion of  these  data  and  drawing  of  safe  inferences  therefrom 
is  a  much  more  difficult  task  than  most  pious  people  imagine. 
Introspection  is  notoriously  liable  to  deception;  and  just  be- 
cause the  reality  and  significance  of  an  experience  is  unques- 
tionable, we  are  not  warranted  in  accepting  any  belief  that 
the  experiencer  himself  supposes  to  be  implied  by  it,  or  at- 
tributing it  to  whatever  he  assigns  as  its  cause.  There  is 
altogether  too  much  confusion  and  looseness  of  thought  in 
these  matters;  and  if  our  religious  philosophy  is  to  stand  the 
test  of  criticism  we  must  be  on  the  lookout  for  these  pitfalls. 

What  cautions  should  be  observed  in  interpreting  religious 
experience? 

(1)  Observation  errs  most  naturally  through  defect. 
Our  faculties  are  capable  of  attending  to  but  few  aspects 
of  a  situation  at  once;  and  no  one  observes  half  of  what  goes 
on  before  his  eyes  or  passes  through  his  mind.  Especially 
in  meeting  experience  that  is  new  to  us  are  we  bewildered 
and  helpless;  if  we  do  not  know  what  to  look  or  listen  for, 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    313 

we  usually  fail  to  catch  the  essential  points.  So  a  believer 
testifying  to  a  supposed  answer  to  prayer  may  entirely 
overlook  some  natural  train  of  causes  which  would  have 
brought  about  the  desired  result  quite  apart  from  his  prayer. 
Or  a  neurasthenic  healed,  as  he  believes,  by  Christian 
Science  may  never  consider  the  fact  that  his  "treatments" 
coincided  with  a  cessation  of  worry,  an  adoption  of  a  more 
hygienic  way  of  life,  or  some  other  change  that  may  really 
be  the  important  factor  in  his  cure. 

(2)  If  we  wish  to  prove  a  certain  theory  we  are  apt  to 
overlook  facts  that  impugn  it.  Our  minds  pounce  upon 
every  instance  that  makes  for  our  pet  beliefs,  and  ignore 
equally  obvious  instances  that  make  against  them.  Cases 
of  apparent  answer  to  prayer  accumulate  in  the  believer's 
memory;  the  cases  of  apparently  unanswered  prayer  pass 
out  of  his  mind.  He  dwells  lovingly  upon  the  instances  of 
fulfillment  of  Old  Testament  prophecy;  the  cases  of  non- 
fulfillment do  not  exist  for  him.  Facts  turn  up  daily  that 
confirm  his  creed  and  bely  his  neighbor's;  and  all  the  time  his 
neighbor  sees  a  thousand  signs  that  warrant  his  own  belief 
and  none  or  few  that  discredit  it.  The  Christian  Scientist 
sees  people  all  about  him  who  have  been  cured;  the  many 
who,  though  treated,  have  not  been  cured  go  unnoticed. 
In  short,  men  see  what  they  are  looking  for  and  are  blind  to 
facts  that  point  the  other  way;  observation  and  introspec- 
tion are  usually  onesided. 

(3)  On  the  other  hand,  observation  often  errs  through 
excess;  that  is,  we  think  we  have  perceived  more  than  our 
actual  data.  The  mind  is  extraordinarily  influenced  by 
suggestion;  a  preconceived  idea  of  what  one  is  going  to  see 
or  feel  easily  affects  one's  belief  as  to  what  one  does  see  or 
feel.  A  child  who  believes  in  ghosts  sees  them  in  every 
bush,  a  nervous  woman  hears  a  burglar  in  every  creak  or 
rustle.    So  when  New  England  divines  testified  to  having 


314  PHILOSOPHICAL 

seen  victims  "bewitched"  by  some  poor  accused  old  woman, 
when  Jesus  spoke  of  casting  devils  out  of  some  "possessed" 
person,  when  Paul  thought  of  himself  as  having  "seen  the 
Lord,"  when  the  early  Christians,  in  their  moments  of  emo- 
tional ecstasy,  felt  themselves  possessed  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
or  when  a  Hindu  mystic  speaks  of  himself  as  having  attained 
to  oneness  with  Brahma,  it  is  conceivable  that  these  un- 
questionably sincere  witnesses,  under  the  influence  of  pre- 
conceived ideas,  read  more  into  their  experiences  than  was 
actually  there.  Where  conversion  is  practised  on  a  large 
scale,  a  certain  sequence  of  experiences  tends  to  become 
stereotyped.  To  a  certain  extent  the  emotions  and  ideas 
thus  suggested  are  actually  experienced  by  succeeding 
groups  of  converts;  their  experiences  are  different  from  what 
they  would  be  under  the  influence  of  some  other  form  of 
evangelism.  But  where  the  actual  experiences  fall  short 
of  the  expected  program  they  tend  almost  irresistibly  to 
be  filled  out  by  the  imagination  with  the  expected  and 
orthodox  details.  Thus  while  religious  experience  is  often 
really  formed  or  colored  by  antecedent  belief,  the  descrip- 
tion of  that  experience  still  oftener  mingles  elements  of  the 
belief  with  the  observation,  so  that  the  resulting  concep- 
tions of  the  believer  are  an  inextricable  blend  of  fact  and 
faith.1 

1  Cf.  G.  Galloway,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  p.  255:  "The  fact  that  you 
have  an  experience  does  not  guarantee  the  truth  of  the  meaning  you  read 
into  the  experience."  A  typical  instance  may  be  quoted  from  the  pen  of  one 
of  our  eminent  contemporary  theologians  (Albert  Parker  Fitch,  The  College 
Course  and  the  Preparation  for  Life,  pp.  133-34) :  "Religion  is  an  experience 
of  the  inner  life.  It  is  our  own  personal  awareness  of  God  and  self  and 
sin;  our  own  actual  finding  out,  that  when  through  Jesus  we  know  God  and 
come  to  Him,  sin  is  forgiven  and  we  are  set  free.  That  is  n't  a  theory  or  a 
philosophy  or  a  science.  It  is  a  fact  in  human  life,  which  generation  after 
generation  of  men  have  known  for  themselves.  It  does  n't  admit  of  argu- 
ment, it  just  is."  I  have  italicized  a  statement  here  which,  though  ex- 
pressly and  vigorously  asserted  to  be  a  fact  of  our  experience,  cannot 
possibly  be  so.    God's  forgiveness  of  our  sins  does  not  take  place  in  our 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE     315 

(4)  Much  false  recording  of  facts  is  due  to  errors  of  mem- 
ory, which  is  a  tricky  faculty  at  best.  People  vary  greatly 
in  the  kind  of  psychic  stuff  of  which  their  recollections  are 
chiefly  composed ;  those  who  remember  in  auditory  or  motor 
images  are  particularly  unreliable  in  their  visual  memories, 
and  vice  versa.  Especially  in  matters  in  which  we  have  an 
interest  is  our  memory  liable  to  corruption  by  that  interest. 
Autobiographies,  chronicles  of  wars,  and  religious  histories 
are  especially  to  be  accepted  with  caution.  It  is  so  easy,  in 
looking  back,  to  remember  things  a  little  more  in  accord 
with  the  way  they  ought  to  have  been  than  with  the  way 
they  were.1  The  natural  tendency  to  embellish  an  incident 
and  make  a  good  story  out  of  it,  the  subconscious  desire  to 
impress  the  listener,  to  extol  a  hero,  to  prove  a  point,  to  make 
converts,  must  continually  be  discounted  by  the  historian. 
Where  strong  feelings  or  prejudices  enter  in,  few  men  are  to 
be  trusted,  however  honest  they  may  mean  to  be,  in  the 
statement  of  their  own  past  experiences.  Where  a  story 
has  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  and  reaches  us  only  at 
second  or  third  or  tenth  hand,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Gospel 
narratives,  it  is  only  with  the  utmost  pains,  by  a  continual 
process  of  reading  between  the  lines  and  watching  for  the 
subtlest  signs,  that  the  historian  can  become  reasonably 
sure  of  an  event.2 

conscious  experience;  at  the  most,  we  have  a  feeling  of  relief  from  remorse, 
renewed  inner  peace,  and  a  new  outflow  of  love,  which  we  may  take  as 
signs  of  forgiveness  —  if  we  believe  in  the  existence  of  a  God  who  forgives. 
Those  inner  experiences  themselves  do  not  contain  the  fact  of  forgiveness, 
and  may  conceivably  exist  without  any  such  fact  being  true. 

1  Cf.  H.  Miinsterberg,  On  the  Witness  Stand,  p.  58:  "We  find  an  abun- 
dance of  cases  reported  which  seem  to  prove  that  either  prophetic  fortune 
tellers  or  inspired  dreams  have  anticipated  the  real  future  of  a  man's  life 
with  the  subtlest  details  and  with  the  most  uncanny  foresight.  But  as 
soon  as  we  examine  these  wonderful  stories,  we  find  that  the  coincidences 
are  surprising  only  in  those  cases  in  which  the  dreams  and  the  prophecies 
have  been  written  down  after  the  realization." 

2  Cf .  what  was  said  above,  on  p.  63  and  pp.  269-73. 


316  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(5)  Many  unintentional  misstatements  of  observation  or 
misunderstandings  on  the  part  of  others  result  from  a  lack 
of  realization  of  the  exact  meaning  of  words.    Even  with 
words  that  have  a  precise  and  generally  accepted  value, 
extraordinary  divergences  of  description  occur  among  men 
of  quite  similar  training  and  habits.1    In  the  use  of  words 
which  have  no  such  fixed  and  ascertainable  meanings  still 
greater  divergences  obtain.   Did  Paul  mean  by  his  doctrine 
of  salvation  by  "faith"  what  the  framers  of  the  Athanasian 
creed  took  him  to  mean?   Did  Jesus,  when  (or  if)  he  spoke 
of  himself  as  Son  of  God,  mean  to  imply  what  later  orthodoxy 
read  into  those  words?   When  the  early  Christians  spoke  of 
the  presence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  (or  should  we  read  "a  holy 
spirit,"  uncapitalized?)   did  they  refer  to  the  Third  Per- 
son of  a  trinitarian  God?    The  word  "God"  is  notoriously 
ambiguous;  the  devout  theist  who  has  his  faith  mightily 
cheered  by  a  First  Cause  argument,  or  some  work  of  idealistic 
metaphysics,  or  some  account  of  mystical  experience,  utterly 
fails  to  realize  that  the  "God"  reached  in  those  ways  may 
have  little  or  nothing  in  common  with  the  God  of  his  reli- 
gious life.    The  use  of  an  identical  word  hides  the  most 
radical  differences  in  conception;  and  many  a  man's  beliefs 
rest  largely  upon  the  testimony  or  faith  of  other  men  whose 
beliefs  are  really  fundamentally  alien  to  his  own.    Religious 
experience  is  peculiarly  apt  to  be  vague,  confused,  inarticu- 
late; there  is  an  utter  lack  of  a  precise  and  generally  accepted 
vocabulary  for  its  various  phases.      Consequently,   in  no 
realm  is  there  more  verbal  confusion  or  more  fallacious 
reasoning. 

1  Cf.  Professor  Miinsterberg's  account  of  his  experiments  with  his  Har- 
vard students  in  the  book  just  referred  to.  In  answer,  e.g.,  to  a  question 
how  long  a  certain  event  that  took  place  before  their  eyes  lasted,  some 
called  the  time  two  or  three  times  as  long  as  others.  Equally  divergent 
answers  were  given  to  such  questions  as,  How  far?  How  often?  How  many? 
How  fast? 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    317 

(6)   Experiences  themselves  do  not  inform  us  of  their 
causes;    to   discover   them   requires   a   process   of   further 
observation,   comparison,   and   inference,   which   must   be 
subject  to  the  ordinary  laws  of  logic.    But  the  man  who  is 
in  the  glow  of  a  great  emotional  experience  is  in  no  mood 
for   cool   analysis,    for   the   proper   application   of   logical 
tests,  the  isolation  of  factors,  the  elimination  of  assumptions. 
He  inevitably  explains  his  experience  in  terms  of  whatever 
conceptions  he  has  at  hand,  and  considers  that  explanation 
to  be  as  assured  as  the  experience  itself.  For  example,  many 
or  all  of  the  striking  experiences  that   have  reinforced  for 
their  subjects  the  belief  in  supernatural  Beings  may  con- 
ceivably be  attributable  merely  to  invasions  into  the  ordi- 
nary consciousness  from  what  we  now  call  the  "subliminal" 
region  of  our  minds.    Certain  temperaments  are  liable  to 
visions,  automatisms,  possessions,  inexplicable  to  the  sub- 
ject and  inspiring  a  sense  of  awe  and  wonder,  of  terror  or 
rapture,  according  to  their  nature.    These  phenomena  are 
psychologically   similar  whether  they  have  any  religious 
significance  to  the  subject  or  not.   The  vision  of  the  apostle 
Paul,  the  "speaking  with  tongues"  of  the  early  Christians, 
the  trances  of  the  saints,  are  only  in  the  happiness  they 
gave  and  the  belief  they  fostered,  not  in  their  psychological 
nature,  different  from  a  million  other  visions  and  possessions 
and  trances  which  have  only  brought  to  their  subjects  un- 
easiness or  alarm.    They  no  doubt  accelerated  the  spread  of 
Christianity,  as  of  other  religions  —  Mohammed  was  par- 
ticularly subject  to  such  experiences.    They  have  produced 
spiritualism  in  our  day.    The  Society  for  Psychical  Re- 
search has  investigated  many  thousands  of  cases,  and  the 
books  on  pathological  psychology  are  full  of  them.  Some  of 
them  are  as  yet  but  dimly  understood.   We  are  certainly  not 
yet  in  a  position  to  be  dogmatic  about  these  experiences,  one 
way  or  the  other.  But  the  point  is  that  if,  for  example,  the 


318  PHILOSOPHICAL 

sound  of  the  Saviour's  voice  or  the  vision  of  his  face  that 
comes  to  the  saint  is  a  proof  of  the  outer  reality  of  this  voice 
or  face,  then  the  number  of  objective  realities  equally  well 
authenticated  by  psychologically  similar  sounds  and  sights 
is  appalling. 

At  any  rate,  whether  a  given  visual  experience  is  really 
a  veridical  vision  of  Christ,  whether  a  given  auditory  ex- 
perience is  really  the  voice  of  Christ,  or  of  God,  or  of  the 
angel  Gabriel  (as  in  the  case  of  Mohammed),  cannot  be 
decided  by  the  believer's  conviction;  the  experiences  may 
be  just  as  they  are  and  yet  be  merely  subjective,  due  to 
the  previous  excited  condition  of  his  mind  and  nerves.  Only 
some  external  test  can  determine  their  cause.  Sometimes 
the  inference  is  so  unconscious  that  the  inferred  cause 
figures  in  the  subject's  thoughts  as  an  actual  part  of  the 
experience  itself  (as  in  paragraph  (3)  above) ;  at  other  times 
the  inference  is  conscious  but  irresistible,  as  in  St.  Theresa's 
statement,  "I  felt  my  soul  inflamed  by  ardent  love  to  God; 
this  love  was  evidently  supernatural,  for  I  knew  not  what 
had  set  it  alight  in  me  and  I  myself  had  done  nothing  in 
the  matter."  l  But  in  any  case,  what  we  report  as  a  cer- 
tainty of  experience  is  very  likely  to  be  colored  by  inference ; 
the  statement  intended  to  describe  the  experience  really 
includes  a  theory  of  the  cause  of  the  experience.2 

(7)  A  very  different  sort  of  error  is  made  by  those  ra- 
tionalists who  assume  that  if  they  can  explain  a  religious 

1  Quoted  by  H.  Hoffding,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  p.  102. 

2  Cf.  Mill,  Logic,  bk.  iv,  chap,  i,  sec.  2:  "In  almost  every  act  of  our  per- 
ceiving faculties,  observation  and  inference  are  intimately  blended.  What 
we  are  said  to  observe  is  usually  a  compound  result,  of  which  one-tenth 
may  be  observation,  and  the  remaining  nine-tenths  inference."  And 
Galloway,  op.  cit.,  p.  255:  "The  so-called  data  of  religious  experience  are 
not  pure  data.  They  imply  a  system  of  beliefs,  and  involve,  in  a  greater 
or  less  degree,  a  process  of  interpretation  .  .  .  We  shall  hardly  understand 
the  diversified  character  of  religious  experience  in  different  races  and 
civilizations,  if  we  do  not  keep  this  in  mind." 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    319 

man's  experience  in  natural  terms  they  have  explained  away 
the  significance  of  the  experience.  Modern  psychology  is 
making  the  attempt,  at  least,  to  find  natural  causes  for  the 
phenomena  of  conversion,  faith-healing,  visions,  photisms, 
glossolalia,  and  all  the  other  peculiarly  religious  experiences. 
But  if  this  attempt  is  successful,  will  God  be  ruled  out  of  the 
world?  On  the  contrary,  this  will  simply  turn  out  to  be  the 
way  in  which  God  works  in  the  world.  Paul  has  been  dis- 
paraged as  an  epileptic,  and  it  is  commonly  pointed  out 
that  the  saints  as  a  class  are  "abnormal,"  "morbid,"  "ec- 
centric," or  "psychopathic";  their  experiences  then,  being 
due  to  pathological  conditions,  are  to  be  rejected  as  no 
longer  illuminating.  It  is  said  that  the  insane  asylums  are 
full  of  people  whose  experiences  are,  from  the  psychological 
point  of  view,  rather  strikingly  similar.  But  what  of  it? 
It  may  be  that  religious  insight  is  most  penetrating  in  those 
whose  minds  are  close  to  the  verge  of,  or  actually  in,  a  con- 
dition that  unfits  them  for  the  ordinary  business  of  life. 
The  same  phenomenon  is  noted  often  in  the  case  of  poets 
and  musicians.  The  abnormal  is,  after  all,  merely  the  un- 
usual; and  the  man  best  fitted  for  "practical"  affairs  may 
have  least  of  value  to  tell  us  in  these  higher  realms.  So  we 
may  let  the  students  of  abnormal  psychology  study  the 
experiences  of  the  saints  and  trace  what  natural  laws  they 
can.  There  may  be  something  gruesome  about  this  analysis 
and  comparative  study,  as  there  is  about  embryology  and 
all  dissection.  But  the  value  or  truth  of  an  experience  has 
nothing  to  do  with  its  origins  or  the  physical  laws  that  con- 
dition it;  and  we  must  not  let  these  physiologists  of  revela- 
tion disturb  our  appraisal  of  the  worth  and  truth  of  what 
religious  experience  has  to  reveal.1 

1  I  wish  it  were  possible  to  quote  here  the  entire  first  chapter  of  James's 
Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  which  so  forcibly  and  delightfully  discusses 
this  error  —  which  he  labels  "medical  materialism." 


320  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(8)  Finally,  the  student  must  beware  of  ignoring  or  doing 
too  scanty  justice  to  forms  of  experience  which  he  has  not 
himself  had,  or  which  do  not  form  a  part  of  the  orthodox 
tradition  of  his  community.    An  investigator  who  has  no 
capacity  for  mystical  experiences  is  apt  to  dismiss  them  all 
as  mere  moonshine.    And  the  Christian  theologian  is  apt, 
in  interpreting  such  experiences,  to  fix  his  attention  upon 
Christian  mysticism  entirely  and  ignore  the  great  field  of 
non-Christian  mystical  experiences.  What  is  not  intelligible 
in  terms  of  one's  own  experience  generally  seems  unreal,  or 
else  unimportant.    It  is  easy  to  assume  that  an  experience 
that  seems  to  you  fantastic,  or  is  out  of  line  with  your 
world- view,  has  been  exaggerated  or  wrongly  described;  and 
if  rationalists  have  not  reached  the  conclusions  which  the 
theologians  have  reached,  it  may  well  be  in  part  because 
they  have  not  had  the  same  data  to  go  on.1  So,  if  we  must 
be  critical  of  alleged  experiences,  we  must  also  be  open- 
minded  toward  them.  There  probably  are,  as  Hamlet  said, 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in  our 
philosophy;  and  we  are  not  yet  in  a  position  to  dismiss  any 
alleged  experiences  as  inherently  impossible.    They  may  be 
misnamed,  and  may  mingle  interpretation  with  their  record 
of  fact;  but  where  there  is  much  smoke  there  is  apt  to  be 
some  fire.    And  even  if  an  experience  has  its  elements  of 
illusion  or  delusion,  it  may  yet  contain  elements  of  precious 
truth,  and  be  of  importance  for  our  theory  of  religion. 

We  may  now  consider  briefly  the  warrant  for  some  in- 
ferences commonly  drawn  from  certain  concrete  types  of  re- 
ligious experience. 

J.  The  voice  of  conscience.  The  undeniable  authority  of 
conscience  has  seemed  to  many  to  imply  the  existence  of  a 

1  For  an  able  presentation  of  this  point,  see  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psy- 
chology, and  Scientific  Methods,  vol.  10,  p.  296. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    321 

personal  law-giving  God.  Whence  this  command  that  con- 
tradicts our  personal  desires  and  imposes  itself  upon  our 
wills,  if  it  be  not  the  voice  of  such  a  Being  in  our  hearts? 
"From  the  existence  within  us  of  this  strong  feeling  of 
responsibility,  this  rooted  sense  of  duty,  this  consciousness 
of  obligation,  pervading  all  our  being  and  colouring  all  our 
thoughts  and  actions,  the  existence  of  a  being  to  whom  we 
are  each  personally  responsible  is  to  be  directly  inferred." 1 

But  a  study  of  any  modern  scientific  treatise  on  ethics  will 
make  plain  the  reasons  for  the  authority  of  conscience,  an 
authority  which  could  not  be  enhanced  by  any  super- 
natural behest.  No  voice  from  without,  even  of  a  Creator 
and  Ruler  of  the  universe,  could  alter  the  duties  that  inhere 
in  the  very  nature  and  conditions  of  human  life  now  that 
it  exists;  such  a  command  could  not  make  right  other  than 
right,  or  wrong  other  than  wrong.  If  God  is  a  conscious 
Being,  aware  of  and  interested  in  our  fortunes,  he  does  no 
doubt  wish  us  to  do  right;  but  the  Tightness  or  wrongness 
of  an  act  is  independent  of  his  desire,  and  just  as  real  if 
there  be  no  such  Being  interested  in  it.  Right  and  wrong 
are  terms  applicable  to  human  actions  according  to  their 
normal  results;  actions  that  conduce  to  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind we  call  right,  those  that  tend  to  lessen  it,  wrong.  The 
individual  has  to  submit  his  personal  will  to  the  universal 
good,  his  momentary  will  to  his  own  ultimate  good  and  that 
of  his  fellows.  This  is,  in  a  word,  the  basis  of  duty  and  re- 
sponsibility. 

Moreover,  a  man  cannot  stop  to  weigh  and  consider  in 
each  separate  case  of  conduct,  or  trust  his  will  to  keep  free 
from  selfish  impulses  and  irrational  desires.  So  conscience 
has  been  developed.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  experience  and 
needs  of  the  race  speaking  in  a  man's  heart.  It  is,  indeed, 
forever  readjusting  itself  to  fit  changing  needs  and  impulses; 
1  F.  Aveling,  The  God  of  Philosophy,  p.  115. 


322  PHILOSOPHICAL 

but  at  any  given  time  and  to  any  individual  it  comes  with 
the  authority  of  his  own  accumulated  experience  and  the 
wider  experience  of  the  society  whose  traditions  he  uncon- 
sciously accepts.  Thus  neither  the  fact  of  duty  and  re- 
sponsibility, on  the  one  hand,  nor  the  sense  of  duty  and 
responsibility,  on  the  other,  need  any  supernatural  postu- 
lates for  their  explanation.  We  are  responsible  to  our  own 
future  selves  and  to  all  those  whom  our  conduct  affects;  that 
we  should  feel  this  responsibility  as  a  vague  and  half -under- 
stood pressure  within  our  own  minds  is  a  natural  result  of 
the  social  influences  under  which  we  have  grown  up. 

This  should  not  be  taken  to  mean  that  God  is  not  re- 
vealed in  the  moral  life  and  in  conscience.  In  Goethe's 
drama,  Thoas  deprecates  Iphigenia's  conscientious  purpose 
with  the  skeptical  remark,  "It  is  no  God,  but  thine  own 
heart  that  speaks";  but  she  replies,  "T  is  only  through  our 
hearts  they  speak  to  us."  The  discovery  of  the  natural 
function  of  morality  and  the  natural  genesis  of  conscience 
do  not  lead  to  atheism;  the  Power  which  is  working  through 
natural  channels  to  produce  these  good  results,  and,  in  a 
sense,  speaking  in  our  hearts,  we  may  still  call  God.  But 
that  this  Power  is  conscious,  personal,  purposive,  or  all- 
powerful,  these  facts  cannot  honestly  be  said  to  imply. 

77.  Conversion.  The  experiences  of  abrupt  conversion, 
of  which  we  spoke  in  an  earlier  chapter,  have  seemed,  to 
many,  a  witness  of  supernatural  agency;  this  inrush  of  a  new 
spirit,  often  to  the  astonishment  of  the  subject,  this  new  joy 
and  power  for  right  living  —  how  else  can  it  be  explained 
than  as  the  working  of  Divine  Grace  in  the  heart?  Bishop 
McConnell  writes,  for  example,  "What  conclusion  can  we 
reach  save  that  the  experiences  point  to  the  reality  of  the 
forces  which  the  seekers  assume  to  be  at  work?"  ' 

The  workings  of  a  Divine  Power  we  may  indeed  call  such 
1  Constructive  Quarterly,  vol.  1,  p.  129. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    323 

beneficent  experiences.  But  modern  psychology  is  ven- 
turing to  explain  those  workings  in  purely  natural  terms; 
and  indeed,  since  closely  similar  phenomena  occur  in  con- 
nection with  many  incompatible  religions,  they  can  hardly 
substantiate  any  particular  one  of  the  numerous  super- 
natural causes  assigned.  There  have,  for  that  matter,  been 
conversions  as  striking  as  those  the  theologians  point  to 
quite  apart  from  any  belief  in  the  supernatural,  deeply 
emotional  conversions  from  selfishness  to  self-surrender, 
from  vice  to  self-mastery,  from  credulity  to  atheism.1 

For  the  comprehension  of  these  experiences,  especially, 
much  illumination  has  come  from  the  study  of  "the  sub- 
conscious." Many  a  change  of  mood  and  character,  we  are 
learning,  ripens  in  the  dark,  as  it  were,  before  being  con- 
sciously recognized;  and  often  a  new  mood  or  impulse  sud- 
denly invades  our  consciousness,  coming  from  this  hidden 
region  into  the  broad  daylight  of  our  minds.  There  are 
crises  and  upheavals  in  our  mental  life  as  well  as  in  the  life 
of  nature.  Some  of  these  crises  bring  about  a  change  for  the 
worse,  some  for  the  better;  the  latter  sort  of  abrupt  change 
has  been  cultivated  by  the  Church  under  the  name  of  con- 
version. At  such  times  the  mind  of  the  believer  is  filled  with 
the  belief  in  a  supernatural  power  which  may  work  upon 
him,  and  is  ready  to  attribute  his  change  of  heart  to  that 

1  Cf.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  p.  Ill:  "A  form  of 
regeneration  by  relaxing,  by  letting  go,  psychologically  indistinguishable 
from  the  Lutheran  justification  by  faith  and  the  Wesleyan  acceptance  of 
free  grace,  is  within  the  reach  of  persons  who  have  no  conception  of  sin 
and  care  nothing  for  the  Lutheran  theology."  J.  H.  Leuba  (in  American 
Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  7,  p.  343)  records  the  remarkable  and  perma- 
nent conversion  of  the  great  temperance  lecturer,  John  B.  Gough,  saying, 
"It  is  practically  the  conversion  of  an  atheist;  neither  God  nor  Christ  is 
mentioned."  He  goes  on  to  say:  "Names,  persons,  and  representations  — 
a  sympathetic  fellow-man,  Jesus  Christ,  or  God  —  are  practically  one,  in 
so  far  as  they  are  able  to  determine  the  same  life  of  love.  .  .  .  What  imports 
is  that  the  regenerating  psychic  process  takes  place;  through  what  instru- 
ment, matters  little." 


324  PHILOSOPHICAL 

agency.  But  there  is  not  necessarily  to  the  psychologist 
anything  more  miraculous  in  these  religious  conversions 
than  in  any  other  changes  of  heart.  When  a  young  man 
who  has  lived  for  himself  falls  in  love;  when,  his  latent  pa- 
triotism suddenly  aroused,  he  answers  the  call  of  his  coun- 
try and  offers  his  life  in  her  service,  his  center  of  interest 
has  shifted  as  completely  as  that  of  a  religious  convert. 
Unsuspected  susceptibilities  in  his  heart,  dormant  loves  and 
passions,  are  awakened  and  become  the  dominant  interest.1 
Conversion  is  usually  preceded  by  a  period  of  restless- 
ness and  conflicting  impulses.  Two  natures  struggle  in  the 
breast:  the  lower  self  kicks  against  the  pricks,  still  holding 
sway  and  seeming  to  be  the  real  self,  while  all  the  time  the 
higher  passions  are  smouldering  underneath,  ready  to  burst 
forth  at  the  proper  stimulus  and  become  a  consuming  flame. 
Similar  abrupt  changes  of  equilibrium  often  occur  in  the 
outer  world ;  in  the  spring,  after  weeks  of  gradual  thawing, 
suddenly  the  ice  in  a  river  breaks  up.  So  may  the  cold  self- 
ishness of  a  heart  be  slowly  but  invisibly  melted,  till  finally 
it  gives  way  and  the  stream  of  love  flows  out  in  a  torrent  all 
the  stronger  for  having  been  so  long  dammed  up.  The 
forces  playing  upon  the  heart  may  be  storing  up  their  ef- 
fects invisibly,  the  youth  may  not  realize  that  he  is  changing; 
but  gradually  his  unselfish  impulses,  his  longings  for  purity 
and  loyalty  and  deliverance  from  sin,  are  ripening,  maturing, 

2  Cf.  Leuba  again  (American  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  1,  p.  75):  "The 
wonderful  vitalizing  effect  of  Faith  is  not,  as  many  suppose,  its  exclusive 
property.  Are  not  these  characteristics  also  those  of  every  form  of  sthenic 
emotion  —  of  anger,  of  jealousy,  of  love?  May  not  love  come  upon  us  with 
the  suddenness  of  a  clap  of  thunder;  may  it  not  transport  us  to  the  seventh 
heaven;  may  it  not,  as  it  were,  push  our  energies  into  specific  channels  and 
thus  enormously  reinforce  our  reactions  to  the  side  of  life  upon  which  love 
shines  and  at  the  same  time  make  us  irresponsive  to  the  other  calls  of 
life?  May  it  not  inspire  us  with  a  non-rational,  boundless  confidence  in 
the  object  of  our  love  and  in  whatever  notion  may,  in  our  mind,  be  at- 
tached to  it?  Observe,  also,  that  love,  like  Faith,  needs  in  order  to  break 
out  but  the  slightest  outward  incentive  or  possibly  none  at  all." 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    325 

till  some  stimulus,  just  enough  to  change  the  equilibrium, 
discharges  them  into  the  full  sunlight  of  consciousness,  and 
he  feels  himself  suddenly  a  new  man.1  That  this  experi- 
ence is  supernatural  cannot  be  proved  from  its  apparent 
abruptness. 

777.  Faith-healing.  A  closely  similar  class  of  experiences 
which  seem  to  attest  definite  theological  beliefs  are  the 
physical  cures  that  so  frequently  follow  on  faith.  The  heal- 
ing miracles  of  Christ  and  the  apostles,  the  cures  wrought 
by  Catholic  relics,  by  Christian  Scientists,  by  faith-curers, 
or  by  prayer,  very  naturally  inspire  in  the  man  who  is  cured 
a  belief  in  the  truth  of  the  doctrine  by  or  upon  belief  in 
which  he  is  cured.  This  was  one  of  the  important  factors  in 
the  growth  of  the  primitive  Christian  church;  and  the  lapse 
in  the  practice  of  healing  has  given  rise  in  recent  times 
to  several  extra-orthodox  bodies,  which  rest  the  truth  of 
their  doctrine  upon  the  practical  success  of  their  method.2 

1  C.  James  again,  op.  cit.,  pp.  228-37:  'It  is  natural  that  those  who  have 
personally  traversed  such  an  experience  should  carry  away  a  feeling  of  its 
being  a  miracle  rather  than  a  natural  process.  .  .  .  [But]  so  many  peculiari- 
ties in  them  remind  us  of  what  we  find  outside  of  conversion  that  we  are 
tempted  to  class  them  along  with  other  automatisms,  and  to  suspect  that 
what  makes  the  difference  between  a  sudden  and  a  gradual  convert  is  not 
necessarily  the  presence  of  divine  miracle  in  the  case  of  one  and  of  some- 
thing less  divine  in  that  of  the  other,  but  rather  a  simple  psychological 
peculiarity,  the  fact,  namely,  that  in  the  recipient  of  the  more  instantan- 
eous Grace  we  have  one  of  those  Subjects  who  are  in  possession  of  a  large 
region  in  which  mental  work  can  go  on  subliminally,  and  from  which 
invasive  experiences,  abruptly  upsetting  the  equilibrium  of  the  primary 
consciousness,  may  come." 

2  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  actuality  of  vast  numbers  of  these  alleged 
cures,  many  of  them  very  striking.  Cf.,  for  one  instance  out  of  thousands, 
O.  Holtzmann,  Life  of  Jesus  (Eng.  tr.),  p.  193:  "When  the  Holy  Coat  was 
displayed  at  Treves  in  the  year  1891,  the  sight  of  the  relic,  seen  with  the 
eye  of  faith,  did,  as  an  actual  fact,  according  to  the  perfectly  trustworthy 
evidence  of  German  physicians  of  unimpeachable  reputation,  effect  in 
eleven  cases  cures  for  which  no  other  medical  reasons  whatever  could  be 
offered.  ...  [A  description  of  the  cases  follows.]  .  .  .  Facts  like  these, 
which  are  not  really  open  to  question,  will  make  Jesus'  works  of  healing 
also  seem  not  impossible."  Not,  of  course,  that  we  need  accept  uncritically 
every  story  of  his  healing! 


326  PHILOSOPHICAL 

But  modern  physiology  may  not  need  the  hypothesis  of 
supernatural  causation.  It  recognizes  that  the  bodily  ac- 
tivities which  are  controlled  or  influenced  by  the  sympa- 
thetic nervous  system  can  be  disorganized  or  paralyzed  by 
fear  or  anxiety  or  mental  depression,  or  a  multitude  of  other 
causes,  and  greatly  stimulated  by  confidence  and  hope  and 
joy.  It  is  not  the  particular  theological  belief,  much  less  the 
object  of  the  belief,  that  works  the  cure;  it  is  the  tonic  effect 
of  the  patient's  faith  that  gives  the  powers  of  the  body  the 
needed  stimulus  to  assert  themselves  and  overcome  the 
malady.1  Whether  the  belief  is  in  something  real  or  in 
something  imaginary  seems  not  to  matter,  so  long  as  the  be- 
liever has  the  necessary  faith.  This  power  of  the  mind  over 
the  body  is  receiving  at  last  the  recognition  it  deserves 
from  scientific  students;  and  the  art  of  psychotherapy  is 
becoming  an  increasingly  important  part  of  medical  study. 
As  striking  cures,  perhaps,  as  ever  saint  or  relic  or  Christian 
Scientist  performed  are  being  wrought  to-day,  without  the 
aid  of  any  theological  belief,  by  the  ordinary  physician  who 
has  learned  to  practise  skillfully  the  art  of  "suggestion." 
Certainly,  if  all  the  beliefs  which  have  cured  men  were  true, 
truth  would  be  a  very  variable  or  self-contradictory  thing! 
But  it  "  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  central  dangers  of  all  non- 
medical suggestive  cures,  that  while  any  belief  may  cure, 
through  the  mere  emotional  power  of  the  act  of  believing, 
the  content  of  the  belief  gains  an  undeserved  appearance 
of  truth."  2 

IV.  Mysticism  and  intuition.  The  general  nature  of  the 
mystical  experiences  we  have  briefly  described  in  an  earlier 
chapter.3   Persons  of  a  certain  temperament  are  liable  to 

1  It  is  noteworthy  that  even  Jesus  could  perform  few  healing  acts  at 
Nazareth,  his  own  home  —  "because  of  their  unbelief."  See  Mark  6:  5-6. 
Matt.  13:  58. 

2  II.  Miinsterberg,  Psychotherapy,  p.  381. 

3  See  above,  pp.  137-33,  203-09. 


THE   INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    327 

invasion  by  such  moments  of  ecstasy  without  any  conscious 
endeavor  after  them,  others  can  cultivate  them;  in  either 
case,  if  they  are  believers  in  some  form  of  theism,  the  ex- 
altation of  spirit  inevitably  seems  an  inpouring  of  the  Divine 
Life.  And  there  can  be  no  objection  to  recognizing  such 
an  experience  as  a  communion  with  God;  indeed,  it  is 
through  just  such  experiences,  among  others,  that  our  con- 
ception of  God  is  formed.  But,  as  with  the  experiences  we 
have  been  considering,  there  is  a  danger  that  the  particu- 
lar antecedent  conceptions  of  the  believer,  being  imported 
into  and  coloring  the  experience,  should  receive  in  his  mind 
unwarrantable  corroboration  from  it.  The  mystic  may  say, 
for  example,  that  he  has  "felt  the  boundless  love  of  God," 
that  "  the  mystery  of  the  Trinity  has  been  revealed  to  him," 
that  "  Christ  came  into  his  heart  with  assurance  of  forgive- 
ness." That  is,  the  experiences  are  taken  to  be  not  merely 
subjective  but  objective,  not  merely  emotional,  but  per- 
ceptional; they  are  felt  to  have  supernatural  implications,  to 
be  inexplicable  in  terms  of  preceding  conscious  states  plus 
the  natural  influences  of  the  environment,  and  therefore 
to  afford  proof  of  the  objective  existence  of  the  God  or 
Saviour  upon  whom  the  subject's  mind  has  been  fixed.  To 
many  a  mystic  the  reality  of  this  Being  with  whom  he  has 
felt  himself  to  be  communing  is  as  unquestionable  as  that 
of  the  human  beings  with  whom  he  talks,  and  his  personal- 
ity and  love  equally  assured. 

But  our  belief  in  other  human  minds  is  not  only  instinc- 
tive, it  is  corroborated  by  a  vast  amount  of  evidence.  It  is 
the  only  plausible  hypothesis  to  account  for  multitudes  of 
our  experiences  which  are  inexplicable  in  terms  of  ante- 
cedent subjective  states.  Is  it  so  with  the  mystical  states? 
Or  are  they  merely  subjective,  explicable  without  the  hy- 
pothesis of  a  divine  mind  affecting  them,  and  affording  us 
therefore  no  avenue  to  extra-psychological  truth?    What- 


328  PHILOSOPHICAL 

ever  our  answer  may  be  —  and   the   matter  is  hotly  dis- 
puted —  we  must  be  willing  to  subject  mystical  experiences, 
like  all  others,  to  the  criticism  of  the  intellect.    Any  single 
type  of  supposed  "perception"    is  always  to  be  doubted 
until  confirmed  by  other  senses.   "  The  fact  that  experiences 
such  as  those  called    mystical  are  different   in   kind  from 
ordinary  experiences  does  not  exempt  their  deliverances 
from  the  authority  of  the  test  of  truth.  And  unless  we  aban- 
don all  rational  standards  of  thinking,  we  are  bound  to 
conclude  that  mystical  experiences  may  testify  to  error."  l 
Again,  the  exact  psychological  inferences  to  be  drawn 
from  these  mental  states,  their  transcendent  implications, 
if  they  have  any,  will  be  a  difficult  matter  to  determine. 
For  there  have  been  mystics  in  all  the  religions;  and  the 
truth  so  immediately  "known"  has  been  one  thing  for  one 
and  quite  the  opposite  for  another.    "The  fact  is  that  the 
mystical  feeling  of  enlargement,  unison,  and  emancipation 
has  no  specific  intellectual  content  whatever  of  its  own.    It 
is  capable  of  forming  matrimonial  alliances  with  material 
furnished  by  the  most  diverse  philosophies  and  theologies, 
provided  only  they  can  find  a  place  in  their  framework  for 
its  peculiar  emotional  mood.    We  have  no  right,  therefore, 
to  invoke  its  prestige  as  distinctly  in  favor  of  any  special 
belief.  .  .  .  [Indeed]  religious  mysticism  is  only  one  half  of 
mysticism.  ...   It  is  evident  that  from  the  point  of  view 
of  their  psychological  mechanism,  the  classic  mysticism  and 
these  lower  mysticisms  spring  from  the  same  mental  level, 
from  that  great  subliminal  or  transmarginal  region  of  which 
science  is  beginning  to  admit  the  existence,  but  of  which  so 
little  is  really  known.     That  region  contains  every  kind  of 
matter:  'seraph  and  snake'  abide  there  side  by  side.    To 
come  from  thence  is  no  infallible  credential.     What  comes 
must  be  sifted  and  tested,  and  run  the  gauntlet  of  confron- 

1  Bode,  Logic,  p.  249. 


THE  INTERPRETATION  OP  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    329 

tation  with  the  total  context  of  experience,  just  like  what 
comes  from  the  outer  world  of  sense."  1 

The  same  two  criticisms  are  applicable  to  the  arguments 
of  those  who  assert  that  the  direct  knowledge  of  God  is  not 
a  matter  of  occasional  and  extraordinary  experience,  but  is 
open  to  all  —  that  man  has  a  "  religious  sense,"  if  he  will  but 
use  it.  Just  what  this  supposed  sense  is,  what  its  organ  and 
physical  mechanism,  we  are  never  told;  its  very  existence 
remains  hypothetical,  with  nothing  to  vouch  for  it  but  the 
word  of  those  who  claim  to  possess  it.  But  even  if  clear 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  such  a  "sense"  were  offered,  its 
dicta  would  have  to  submit  to  sifting  at  the  hands  of  the 
intellect  and  the  other  senses.  We  know  that  a  seen  object 
is  an  objective  reality  because  we  can  also  touch  or  hear  or 
smell  it,  or  in  some  way  check  up  our  optical  sensations; 
otherwise  we  suspect  them  to  be  mere  hallucinations  or 
malobservations.  So  with  the  data  offered  by  a  "religious 
sense";  they  must  be  corroborated  by  the  rest  of  our  ex- 
perience. And  since  we  find,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  the 
"religious  sense"  of  one  man  perceives  one  kind  of  a  God, 
and  that  of  another  a  radically  different  God,  we  not  un- 
naturally suspect  that  this  "sense"    is  a  merely  supposed 

1  James,  op.  cit.,  pp.  425-27.  Cf.  G.  L.  Dickmson,  Religion,  A  Criticism  and 
a  Forecast,  pp.  40-41:  "All  of  these  revelations  cannot  be  true.  One  may 
be  true  and  the  others  false.  But  in  that  case  we  must  find  our  criterion  of 
truth  and  falsehood  somewhere  else  than  in  the  subjective  certainty  of  the 
converted  person.  ...  It  is  indisputable  that  the  test  of  validity  must  be 
sought  somewhere  else  than  in  the  sense  of  certainty  felt  by  the  person 
who  claims  to  have  had  the  revelation.  In  other  words,  the  truth  of  a  doc- 
trine supposed  to  be  thus  conveyed,  or  the  goodness  of  a  moral  intuition, 
must  be  sifted,  before  they  can  be  accepted,  by  the  ordinary  critical  proc- 
esses; and,  except  as  the  result  of  such  a  sifting,  performed  deliberately 
again  and  again,  in  calm  and  normal  moments,  no  man  who  is  at  once  re- 
ligious, honest,  and  intelligent,  will  or  ought  to  accept  the  deliverances  of 
any  so-called  revelation  of  this  type." 

As  Galloway  puts  it  (Philosophy  of  Religion,  p.  238) :  "The  psychological 
feeling  of  certainty  does  not  in  itself  give  the  assurance  of  epistemological 
validity." 


330  PHILOSOPHICAL 

source  and  explanation  of  those  deep-rooted  beliefs  that 
in  most  men's  minds  antedate  and  outlive  argument  and 
evidence. 

Such  sub-rational  beliefs  form  a  large  part  of  the  mental 
equipment  of  most  of  us.  But  it  is  better  to  label  them  as 
prejudices,  preconceptions,  suspicions,  conjectures,  or  hopes. 
At  best  we  may  call  them  intuitions,  implying  by  that 
word  our  belief  that  in  spite  of  the  lack  of  supporting  evi- 
dence they  point  us  toward  the  truth.  So,  of  course,  they 
may.  But  we  must  be  honest  enough  to  confess  that  intu- 
ition can  give  us  only  possibilities,  not  assured  knowledge. 
We  may  think  of  them  as  coming  from  "deeper  levels"  of 
our  nature,  or  as  being  "super-rational,"  and  so  a  sort  of 
extra  eye;  and  we  may  personally  pin  our  trust  to  them.  But 
until  we  can  show  solid  reasons  for  believing  in  these  "  in- 
tuitions," they  can  become  no  more  than  private  sources  of 
comfort,  and  suggestions  for  our  mind  to  work  upon.  Until 
we  have  tangible  evidence  to  go  on  we  can  never  be  sure 
that  they  are  anything  but  prejudices  or  delusions. 

Examples  of  arguments:  G.  P.  Fisher,  Grounds  of  Theistic  and 
Christian  Belief,  chaps,  rv-vi.  D.  A.  Curtis,  The  Christian  Faith, 
chap.  xxvi.  W.  N.  Clarke,  Outline  of  Christian  Theology,  pp. 
123-26;  Christian  Doctrine  of  God,  chap,  iv,  sec.  3. 

Criticisms:  J.  S.  Mill,  Logic,  bk.  iv,  chap,  i,  Theism,  pt.  i,  toward 
end.  J.  H.  Leuba,  Psychological  Study  of  Religion,  chap.  xi.  G.  B. 
Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity,  chaps,  i,  n,  xxi. 
J.  M.  E.  McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Christianity,  chap.  n. 
W.  James,  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience,  chap.  I.  Hibbert 
Journal,  vol.  4,  p.  485. 

The  Interpretation  of  Mysticism:  H.  Delacroix,  Etudes  d'His- 
toire  et  de  Psychologie  du  Mysticisme.  W.  E.  Hocking,  Meaning 
of  God  in  Human  Experience,  pt.  v.  James,  op.  cit.,  chap,  m, 
xvi,  xvii.  B.  W.  Bode,  Outline  of  Logic,  pp.  247-52.  G.  Santa- 
yana,  Poetry  and  Religion,  chap.  i.  Mind,  (N.S.),  vol.  14,  p.  15. 

The  Interpretation  of  Faith-healing:  G.  A.  Coe,  Spiritual  Life, 
chap.  iv.   E.  Worcester,  Religion  and  Medicine,  Christian  Religion 


THE   INTERPRETATION  OF  RELIGIOUS  EXPERIENCE    331 

as  a  Healing  Poiver.  H.  Miinsterberg,  Psychotherapy.  L.  P. 
Powell,  Christian  Science,  chap.  vii.  Cutten,  op.  tit.,  chap.  xv. 
P.  Dubois,  The  Influence  of  the  Mind  upon  the  Body.  C.  Lavaud, 
Guerison  par  la  Foi.  American  Journal  of  Theology,  vol.  14,  p.  533. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS 

The  discouraging  lack  of  evidence  as  yet  found  by  a 
strictly  scientific  method  to  support  traditional  theological 
beliefs  has  given  rise  in  recent  years  to  a  number  of  closely 
related  arguments  which  aim  to  base  the  proof  of  dogma 
upon  practical  needs  in  place  of  evidence.  These  arguments 
we  may  group  under  the  rather  loose  and  fluctuating  term 
"pragmatism";  and  to  the  consideration  of  some  of  their 
commoner  variations  we  may  now  turn. 

Can  we  trust  a  belief : 

/.  Because  its  untruth  would  be  intolerable?  The  apostle 
Paul,  in  a  familiar  passage,  wrote:  "If  there  be  no  resurrec- 
tion of  the  dead,  then  is  Christ  not  risen;  and  if  Christ  be 
not  risen,  then  is  our  preaching  vain,  and  your  faith  is  also 
vain.  ...  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we  are 
of  all  men  most  miserable.  ...  If  the  dead  rise  not,  let  us 
eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we  die."  1  To  him  the  possibil- 
ity of  his  being  deceived  was  so  abhorrent  that  his  mind 
refused  to  entertain  it;  the  implications  of  such  a  situation 
were  so  unpleasant  that  it  could  not  be  the  true  situation. 
In  similar  vein  we  are  told  by  many  modern  apologists  that 
atheism  must  be  mistaken  because  it  is  so  dreadful  and 
dangerous:  it  drives  men  to  despair,  it  paralyzes  their  ener- 
gies, it  leads  naturally  to  a  reckless  disregard  of  morality. 
Schiller  tells  us  that  the  belief  in  God  and  immortality  will 
alone  save  us,  and  must  therefore  be  accepted;    our  phi- 

1  1  Cor.  15:  13,  14,  19,  32. 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  333 

losophy  must  "  support,  or  at  least  not  paralyze,  moral  ef- 
fort." x  Mallock  tells  us  that  although  "scientific  obser- 
vation and  analysis  can  discover  no  place  in  the  universe  " 
for  God,  and  though  "the  mind  is  incapable  of  representing 
consistently  to  itself "  the  theistic  idea,  yet  "  our  whole 
system  of  practical  life  involves  the  assertion  "  of  it.  "  Some 
system  of  doctrine  equivalent  in  its  effects  to  the  doctrines 
of  theistic  religion  is  an  element  absolutely  essential  to  the 
higher  civilization  of  man."  2  In  fine,  these  beliefs  are  es- 
sential to  an  optimistic  view  of  the  universe,  and  optimism 
is  our  duty;  they  are  essential  to  keep  man  moral,  so  they 
must  be  true.    Their  untruth  would  be  intolerable. 

This  argument,  which  has  properly  been  called  the  "re- 
ductio  ad  horrendwn,"  may  be  answered  in  several  ways:  — 

(1)  Perhaps  the  universe  is  "intolerably"  bad;  how  can 
we  know  until  we  investigate?  What  right  have  we  to  as- 
sume that  it  is  constructed  so  as  to  comfort  and  inspire  us? 
If  it  is  n't,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  We  may  hide 
our  heads,  like  the  ostrich,  from  so  unpleasant  a  thought; 
but  wincing  and  averting  our  eyes  will  not  alter  the  facts, 
whatever  they  are.  Our  lives  are  continually  offering  in- 
stances of  catastrophes  that  would  have  been  intolerable  to 
contemplate  that  have  nevertheless  come  to  pass;  we  have 
daily  evidence  of  Nature's  indifference  to  our  hopes  and 
desires.  It  is  notorious  that  many  of  our  purest  longings 
remain  unfulfilled.  If  optimism  means  being  cheery  under 
all  circumstances,  then  optimism  is  clearly  our  duty;  if  it 
means  assuming,  in  despite  or  in  advance  of  the  evidence, 
that  the  world  is  as  we  should  like  it,  then  it  may  still  be 
our  duty,  and  is  certainly  our  privilege,  to  cultivate  such  a 
faith;  but  such  an  attitude  of  ours  can  in  no  wise  inform 
us  of  what  the  cosmic  facts  really  are. 

1  Humanism,  pp.  347,  5. 

2  Religion  as  a  Credible  Doctrine,  pp.  249,  259. 


334  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(2)  The  loss  of  beliefs  that  once  seemed  essential  to  men's 
happiness  may  after  all  prove  not  intolerable.  Often  they 
are  replaced  by  other  equally  stimulating  beliefs.  It  may  be 
that  only  a  part  of  a  complex  belief  is  really  essential  to  a 
man's  happiness,  and  that  part  may  be  preserved  in  a  new 
view.  Thus,  some  of  those  who  believe  in  "creative  evolu- 
tion "  —  a  tendency  inherent  in  the  universe  to  develop  of 
itself  toward  ideals  —  maintain  that  for  them  it  quite  satis- 
factorily takes  the  place  of  the  theistic  conception.  Some 
who  find  it  impossible  to  believe  in  personal  immortality 
declare  that  "ideal  immortality"  is  a  worthy  and  inspiring 
substitute.  Comte  felt  that  his  natural  religion  could  supply 
all  the  consolation  and  inspiration  of  the  current  superna- 
tural doctrines.  "  Tastes  differ  and  tastes  change.  A  Viking 
or  a  Maori  warrior  might  well  find  that  the  prospect  of  an 
immortality  without  fighting  made  the  universe  intoler- 
able." 1  Indeed,  men  can  stand  even  a  complete  loss  of 
theological  beliefs  without  a  paralysis  of  their  practical  life. 
It  is  a  matter  for  plain  observation  that  atheists  are  about 
as  often  energetic  and  good  and  happy  as  theists;  men  who 
are  agnostic  with  regard  to  a  future  life  nevertheless  act 
with  enthusiasm  and  joy  while  they  live.  It  is,  after  all,  a 
gratuitous  apprehension  to  fear  that  men  are  going  to  sit 
still  and  fold  their  hands  and  die  of  despair,  or  plunge  into 
depths  of  depravity,  if  they  cease  to  credit  what  seems  to 
the  believer  so  essential.  There  is  very  little  actual  relation 
between  cosmic  beliefs  and  morality  or  energy  or  happiness. 
What  is  agonizing  and  paralyzing  is  the  transition-period, 
during  which  a  belief  is  being  renounced,  and  while  the 
sweetness  which  it  once  had  for  the  heart  refuses  to  be  for- 
gotten. The  man  bred  to  a  certain  cosmic  conception  may 
indeed  never  get  over  the  loss  of  it.  But  his  children,  who 
grow  up  without  those  beliefs,  will  very  likely  never  feel 
1  McTaggart,  op.  tit.,  p.  52. 


PRAGMATIC   ARGUMENTS  335 

their  lack.  It  is  a  matter  of  adjustment;  we  can  adapt  our- 
selves to  altered  conditions,  mental  as  well  as  physical,  far 
more  easily  than  we  suppose.1 

(3)  If  it  be  said  that  men  can  get  along  without  the  the- 
istic  beliefs  —  or  what  not  —  merely  in  their  unrefiective 
hours,  and  because  they  are  short-sighted  and  illogical,  it 
may  be  replied  that  the  lack  of  logic  is  rather  with  those 
who  suppose  their  particular  beliefs  to  be  a  necessary  impli- 
cation of  morality  or  of  a  hopeful  view  of  the  universe.  The 
reasons  for  morality,  at  least,  are  purely  natural  and  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  theological  skepticism;  morality  being 
simply  the  best  way  to  live,  that  way  remains  the  best  way 
even  if  there  be  no  personal  God  or  no  heaven.  If  any  men 
are  restrained  from  vice  and  sin  simply  by  their  fear  of 
God's  anger,  or  by  the  hope  of  reward,  they  are  in  sad  need 
of  moral  education.  To  "eat,  drink,  and  be  merry"  —  if 
that  means  to  indulge  in  immoral  dissipation  —  is  a  short- 
sighted and  foolish  philosophy  of  life,  even  if  this  life  be  all. 
Teach  men  the  rationale  of  morality  and  it  will  no  more  be 
disturbed  by  theological  perturbations  than  agriculture  or 
transportation.  A  sensible  man  would  not  cease  to  want  to 
live  in  the  best  way  simply  because  life  was  brief  and  there 

1  Professor  Pitkin  (in  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific 
Methods,  vol.  8,  p.  302)  calls  attention  to  "the  normal  man's  invincible 
indifference  in  practical  life  to  the  intellectualist's  demand  that  we  allow 
metaphysics  to  sour  our  breakfast  porridge  and  paralyze  the  nerves  which 
give  us  a  good  time.  What  may  be  truth  of  the  cosmos  through  all  the 
reaches  of  time  is  not,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  true  of  little  spots  in  it  at  some 
brief  moments;  and  men,  who  live  and  move  only  in  little  spots  and  only 
at  brief  moments,  always  have  reacted  and  always  will  react  only  to  these 
intimate  near  tracts  of  time  and  space."  It  is  not  true  "that  a  theory  about 
the  cosmic  drift  must  regulate  our  practical  attitudes,  feeling,  and  conduct 
from  moment  to  moment,"  or  that  "if  the  world  isn't  engineered  so  as  to 
guarantee  unlimited  bliss  for  all  hands,  your  knowledge  of  this  must 
logically  pervade  your  dinner,  the  evening  at  the  theatre,  and  to-morrow's 
boat-ride;  must,  in  short,  throw  its  lights  or  its  shadows  across  each  hour. 
...  As  a  matter  of  psychological  fact,  these  lights  and  shadows  do  not  fall 
upon  men's  paths  as  the  logic  of  the  cas?  d'jm'inds." 


336  PHILOSOPHICAL 

was  no  God  watching  him.  And  if  a  man  is  not  sensible, 
and  chooses  the  worse  way?  Well,  so  do  men  now.  Motives 
and  encouragements  and  driving  forces  exist  on  all  hands; 
if  they  do  not  keep  men  up  to  their  best,  it  is  because 
of  our  failure  properly  to  utilize  them.  Certain  incentives 
might  be  lost,  but  plenty  would  remain. 

And  how  could  the  mere  fact  of  God's  existence  guarantee 
us  immortality  or  a  desirable  outcome  of  the  universe? 
For  if  he  is  omnipotent,  he  still  evidently  does  not  remove 
what  are  to  us  evils;  seeing  that  he  has  permitted  so  much 
that  crosses  our  desires,  how  can  we  be  sure  that  he  will  not 
cross  our  other  desires?  If  he  is  not  omnipotent,  how  can  we 
be  sure  that  he  can  secure  immortality  for  us?  or  the  ulti- 
mate victory  of  good?  In  short,  theism  alone  does  not  imply 
the  fulfillment  of  our  desires,  nor  does  atheism  necessarily 
imply  their  non-fulfillment.  So  the  theological  beliefs  which 
are  defended  on  the  ground  that  they  alone  imply  the  satis- 
faction of  our  needs  often  do  not  really  guarantee  any  such 
satisfaction. 

(4)  Finally,  this  argument,  that  if  a  state  of  things  would 
be  bad  it  cannot  be  true,  is  immoral;  for  it  logically  implies 
that  if  a  fact  is  true  it  cannot  be  bad.  If  we  are  to  refuse  to 
believe  in  an  atheistic  world  because  it  would  be  an  evil, 
we  may  logically  refuse  to  hold  any  of  our  acts  evil,  since 
they  are  actual  facts.  But  "it  is  our  duty  to  be  humble  in 
judging  of  reality,  and  imperious  in  judging  of  goodness. 
What  is  real  is  real,  however  we  may  condemn  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  what  we  condemn  —  if  we  condemn  rightly  — ■ 
is  bad,  even  if  it  were  the  essence  of  all  reality.  The  moral 
evil  of  the  argument  from  consequences  seems  to  me  to  be 
that  it  makes  us  imperious  in  the  wrong  place,  where  our 
humility  is  wrong  and  servile.  When  the  reality  of  a  thing 
is  uncertain,  the  argument  encourages  us  to  suppose  that 
our  approval  of  a  thing  can  determine  its  reality.     And 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  337 

when  this  unhallowed  link  has  once  been  established,  ret- 
ribution overtakes  us.  For  when  the  reality  is  independ- 
ently certain,  we  have  to  admit  that  the  reality  of  a  thing 
should  determine  our  approval  of  that  thing.  I  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  a  more  degraded  position."  l 

II.  Because  our  hearts  vouch  for  it  ?  The  thoroughgoing 
pragmatist  is  not  daunted,  however,  by  such  considerations. 
Our  intellect,  he  admits,  warns  us  from  letting  our  hopes 
and  desires  bias  our  judgment.  But  why  should  we  let  our 
intellects  tyrannize  over  us?  Why  should  we  be  slaves  to 
what  Emerson  calls  "  this  arid,  departmental,  post-mortem 
science."  We  are,  after  all,  more  than  intellect;  and  every 
part  of  our  nature  has  its  rights  in  court  also.  Kant  as- 
serted for  his  "postulates  of  practical  reason  "  a  validity 
equal  to  that  of  the  conclusions  of  "pure  reason";  and  since 
his  time  a  host  of  philosophers  and  theologians  have  main- 
tained that  the  "heart"  can  vouch  for  truth  as  truly  as 
the  logical  intellect.  William  James  maintained  this  thesis 
brilliantly  in  his  essay  on  "Reflex  Action  and  Theism": 
"Materialism  and  agnosticism,  even  were  they  true,  could 
never  gain  universal  and  popular  acceptance;  for  they  both, 
alike,  give  a  solution  of  things  which  is  irrational  to  the 
practical  third  of  our  nature,  and  in  which  we  can  never  feel 
volitionally  at  home.  .  .  .  Our  volitional  nature  must  then, 
till  the  end  of  time,  exert  a  constant  pressure  upon  the  other 
departments  of  the  mind  to  induce  them  to  function  to 
theistic  conclusions.  No  contrary  formulas  can  be  more 
than  provisionally  held.  .  .  .  May  you  avert  the  formation  of 
a  narrow  scientific  tradition,  and  burst  the  bonds  of  any 
synthesis  which  would  pretend  to  leave  out  of  account  those 
forms  of  being,  those  relations  of  reality,  to  which  at  present 
our  active  and  emotional  tendencies  are  our  only  avenues  of 
approach  .  .  .  Infra-theistic  conceptions,  materialisms  and 
1  McTaggart,  op.  cit.,  pp.  65-66. 


338  PHILOSOPHICAL 

agnosticisms,  are  irrational  because  they  are  inadequate 
stimuli  to  man's  practical  nature."  1 

In  the  first  clause  which  I  have  italicized,  James  seems 
to  be  saying  only  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  people  are  biased 
by  their  desires  and  needs,  that  they  always  have  been  and 
always  will  be  affected  in  their  beliefs  by  considerations 
beyond  those  of  logic  and  evidence.  And  there  are  many 
pragmatists  who  are  content  to  repeat  that  we  are  so  made 
that  we  must  cleave  to  satisfactory  beliefs,  true  or  not,  and 
reject  unsatisfactory  ones,  even  were  they  true.  But  the 
stouter  pragmatists  follow  the  cue  given  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  quotation,  and  insist  that  the  demands  of  the  heart 
constitute  a  means  of  ascertaining  what  is  true.  Schiller, 
for  example,  seems  to  be  on  the  former  ground  when  he 
declares  "  the  real  structure  of  the  actual  reason  to  be  es- 
sentially pragmatical,  and  permeated  through  and  through 
with  acts  of  faith,  desires  to  know  and  wills  to  believe,  to 
disbelieve,  and  to  make  believe."  To  this  we  might  reply  that 
our  minds  are  indeed  usually  so  biased,  but  that  they  are 
usually  untrustworthy  for  that  very  reason;  only  when  a 
man  succeeds  in  eliminating  these  disturbing  factors  and 
training  his  mind  to  be  a  disinterested  recorder  of  facts  and 
reasoner  thereupon,  does  he  become  a  safe  guide.2  But 
on  that  same  page  Schiller  writes,  "Common  sense  has 
always  shown  a  certain  sympathy  with  all  such  protests 
against  the  pretensions  of  what  is  called  the  pure  intellect 
to  dictate  to  man's  whole  complex  nature.  It  has  always  felt 
that  there  are  '  reasons  of  the  heart  of  which  the  head  knows 
nothing,'  postulates  of  a  faith  that  surpasses  mere  under- 

1  The  Will  to  Believe,  pp.  126-34. 

2  The  pragmatist  account  of  our  mental  processes  is  a  singularly  hope- 
less one.  Professor  Dewey's  little  book,  How  We  Think,  is  typical.  He  does 
not  consider  how  to  think,  how  we  ought  to  think  to  arrive  at  truth,  but 
how  stupid,  prejudiced  men  do,  and  apparently  always  must,  think.  It  is  a 
substitution  of  observation  for  ideals,  of  psychology  for  logic. 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  339 

standing,  and  that  these  possess  a  higher  rationality  which 
a  bigoted  intellectualism  has  failed  to  comprehend."  l 

To  this  argument  we  may  reply :  — 

(1)  It  is  proper  for  the  heart  to  desire  objects  that  shall 
gratify  its  longings,  and  to  seek  for  such;  the  motive  for 
truth-seeking  may  be  practical,  and  the  direction  in  which 
one  looks  may  be  determined  by  what  one  hopes  to  find. 
When  Schiller  writes,  "In  reality  our  knowing  is  driven  and 
guided  at  every  step  by  our  subjective  interests  and  pref- 
erences, our  desires,  our  needs  and  our  ends,"  2  we  may 
agree.  But  these  interests  and  preferences  cannot  answer 
the  questions  they  suggest;  for  that  we  must  look  to  the 
evidence.  The  "heart"  constructs  hypotheses;  but  it  cannot 
tell  whether  they  are  true.  "All  human  needs  have  the  same 
function  in  the  discovery  of  factual  truth:  they  constitute 
merely  demands  and  incentives.  It  is  the  intellect  which 
passes  upon  the  validity  of  each  proposition  affirming,  in 
the  interest  of  any  need,  objective  existence."  3 

1  Humanism,  p.  6.  Cf.  also  G.  Galloway,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  p. 
265:  "The  truth  of  a  religion  will  be  decided  by  the  way  in  which  its  con- 
ception of  the  world  satisfies  the  reason,  its  practical  ideal  the  will,  and 
its  presentation  of  the  religious  relation  the  feelings  and  emotions.  The 
more  fully  the  different  elements  support  and  supplement  one  another,  the 
greater  is  the  assurance  of  religious  truth."  And  p.  269:  "Only  the  mutual 
support  of  the  theoretical  and  practical  reason  can  give  a  sufficient  assur- 
ance of  religious  truth."  So  Stratton,  pp.  360-65:  "There  are  several  great 
activities,  or  interests,  each  with  a  claim  to  examine  and  report  upon  the 
character  of  reality  — ■  claiming,  if  not  an  exclusive  power  to  reveal  what 
is  real,  at  least  a  power  supplemental  to  that  of  its  fellows.  .  .  .  Whatsoever 
is  absolutely  needed  to  make  my  experience  morally  intelligible  I  shall 
hold  to,  as  having  the  solid  reality  of  experience  itself.  .  .  .  The  intelligent 
thought  of  mankind  will,  in  the  end,  regard  as  partial,  and  will  attempt 
to  correct,  any  view  of  the  world  that  fails  to  satisfy  this  need." 

2  Humanism,  p.  9. 

3  J.  H.  Leuba,  in  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific 
Methods,  vol.  9,  p.  409.  Cf .  Dickinson,  Religion,  a  Criticism  and  a  Forecast, 
p.  43:  "The  fact  that  [beliefs]  afford  a  solution  of  the  riddle  of  the  world 
which  to  many  minds  is  satisfactory  does  not  in  itself  show  anything 
about  their  truth  or  falsehood.  It  shows  merely  the  tremendous  bias 
under  which  criticism  has  to  act." 


340  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(2)  We  may  "trust  our  hearts"  in  matters  of  valuation: 
when  they  pronounce  an  object  beautiful  or  good  we  may 
accept  (after  due  criticism,  of  course)  their  verdict.      For 
the  beauty  and  goodness  of  objects  consist  precisely  in  their 
relation  to  our  feelings;  our  knowledge  of  such  beauty  and 
goodness  tells  us  really  nothing  of  the  nature  of  things  save 
that  they  are  so  constituted  as  to  affect  us  in  certain  ways. 
From  a  man's  statement  that  a  rose  smells  sweet  to  him, 
or  that  a  certain  conception  of  God  is  beautiful  and  inspiring 
to  him,  there  is  no  appeal.    His  own  feelings  constitute  the 
supreme  court  in  such  matters.      But  "the  heart"  has  no 
right  to  make  existential  judgments,  no  means  of  ascertain- 
ing what  facts  do  and  what  do  not  exist.  Why  does  not  some 
pragmatist  adduce   reasons  for  holding  that  "our  active 
and  emotional  tendencies"  are  "avenues  of  approach"  to 
reality?   They  are  means  of  appraising  such  reality  as  they 
are  confronted  with  by  the  senses  or  memory  or  imagination, 
but  they  do  not  add  to  our  knowledge  of  what  exists  — 
except  the  knowledge  of  their  own  existence.     'The  intel- 
lect" and  "the  heart"  are  not  two  "faculties,"  each  en- 
dowed with  means  of  certifying  to  truth;  there  is  but  one 
means,  observation,  and  inference  therefrom,  to  be  veri- 
fied by  further  observation.    To  rail  against  a  "bigoted  in- 
tellectualism  "  is  but  bluster  unless  the  critic  can  show  what 
means  "the  heart"  has  at  its  disposal  for  ascertaining  what 
lies  beyond  the  ken  of  our  senses,  our  introspective  obser- 
vation, and  our  logical  inferences  from  these  data. 

(3)  The  argument  rests,  no  doubt,  on  an  unexpressed 
assumption  that  God  would  not  allow  us  to  have  instincts 
that  would  deceive  us,  longings  doomed  to  non-fulfillment. 
But  this  is,  of  course,  to  reason  in  a  circle  —  deducing  the 
trustworthiness  of  our  instincts  from  the  existence  of  God, 
and  then  deducing  the  existence  of  God  from  the  trust- 
worthiness of  our  instincts.    We  have  no  right  to  beg  the 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  341 

whole  question  in  that  way.  Moreover,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
many  of  man's  deep-rooted,  instinctive  beliefs  have  been 
proved  false.  To  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  history  and 
psychology  of  belief,  the  long  persistence  of  a  belief  for 
which  the  "heart"  vouches  is  no  argument  for  its  truth. 
Superstitions  have  extraordinary  vitality.  Man's  instinctive 
notions  are  usually  erroneous;  and  correct  ideas  have  to 
win  their  way  slowly.  Especially  slow  in  disappearing  are 
beliefs  which  appeal  to  the  emotions  and  the  imagination, 
or  affect  conduct.  But,  for  that  matter,  millions  of  human 
beings  have  longed  for  the  oblivion  of  Nirvana;  the  great 
majority,  since  the  dawn  of  history,  have  believed  in  many 
gods  rather  than  in  one  God.  If  ever  any  beliefs  were 
vouched  for  by  the  "heart,"  these  were.  No,  our  needs,  our 
"  demands,"  our  hopes,  are  causes  of  our  beliefs,  but  they  can- 
not be  held  to  be  means  of  knowing  that  our  beliefs  are  true. 
Unpleasant  as  the  fact  is,  we  have  no  guaranty  that  these 
passionate  personal  convictions  of  ours  are  not  delusions, 
these  hopes  doomed  to  disappointment  —  except  as  we  can 
discover  evidence;  and  that  evidence  must  be  scrutinized 
impartially  and  criticized  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of 
logic. 

(4)  This  is  by  no  means  to  say  that  it  is  unlawful  to  retain 
these  emotionally  caused  or  instinctive  beliefs,  when  we  can- 
not find  evidence  to  support  them.  The  ethical  problem  in- 
volved, concerning  the  will  or  the  right  to  believe  when  we 
cannot  prove,  will  be  discussed  in  chapter  xxv.  We  may 
anticipate  the  outcome  of  that  discussion  by  saying  that 
such  a  will  to  believe  is  perfectly  legitimate  and  highly  de- 
sirable within  certain  bounds.  But  the  admission  that  we 
may  believe  in  spite  of  a  lack  of  evidence  must  be  sharply 
distinguished  from  the  assertion  that  such  a  will,  such  an 
impulse  of  the  heart,  or  push  of  the  emotions,  constitutes 
evidence  that  the  belief  is  true. 


342  PHILOSOPHICAL 

111.  Because  it  "works"?  Another,  and  perhaps  the 
commonest,  form  of  the  pragmatic  argument,  is  that  which 
insists  that  "what  works  best  in  practice  is  what  in  actual 
knowing  we  accept  as  true."  l  We  have  no  means  of  as- 
certaining truth  except  by  formulating  hypotheses  and 
seeing  whether  they  "work";  and  so,  "When  an  idea  leads 
to  satisfactory  results  both  in  the  individual  life  and  the 
social  medium,  this  dynamic  efficiency  constitutes  a  proper 
claim  to  truth."  2  If  we  demand  any  further  evidence  of 
religious  truth,  we  are  more  exacting  than  in  our  attitude 
toward  other  matters.  Why  do  we  believe  in  atoms,  in  the 
heliocentric  theory  of  the  solar  system,  in  the  wave  theory 
of  light?  We  have  no  ocular  evidence  of  these  universally 
accepted  truths;  they  were  at  first  mere  guesses,  which  have 
been  tested  and  found  to  jibe  with  the  fragmentary  bits  of 
our  experience,  and  so  satisfy  our  minds,  which  must  for- 
mulate some  generalization  by  which  to  unify  and  compre- 
hend its  observations.  Why  indeed  does  a  man  believe  in 
the  existence  of  other  minds?  In  the  nature  of  the  case, 
they  can  never  enter  into  his  own  experience.  Does  he  not 
rest  his  belief  upon  the  fact  that  his  venture  of  faith  in 
their  reality  is  verified  by  a  thousand  daily  experiences  which 
fall  out  as  if  these  other  minds  were  real?  Since,  then,  in  the 
nature  of  the  case  we  cannot  directly  experience  God's  mind, 
what  further  proof  can  we  require  of  his  existence  beyond 
the  fact  that  the  belief  in  him,  when  tried,  is  similarly  veri- 

1  Schiller,  Humanism,  p.  7. 

2  G.  Galloway,  Philosoplnj  of  Religion,  p.  369.  Cf.  also  A.  P.  Fitch, 
The  College  Course  and  the  Preparation  for  Life,  pp.  120,  107:  "When  men 
do  thus  accept  the  Christian  Gospel  on  faith,  they  are  able  to  prove  it  is 
true  in  their  own  experience  by  the  marvelous  things  which  it  does  to 
them."  "Then  a  new  power  flows  into  his  being,  and  then  he  begins  to 
know  the  heavenly  Father  for  himself.  Then  belief  in  God  is  no  longer 
taking  him  entirely  on  faith;  for  then  we  have  begun  the  verification  by 
experience,  and  we  know  of  ourselves  and  within  ourselves  that  we  are 
dealing  with  realities." 


PRAGMATIC   ARGUMENTS  343 

fied?  "On  pragmatistic  principles,  if  the  hypothesis  of  God 
works  satisfactorily,  in  the  widest  sense,  it  is  true.  Now, 
whatever  its  residual  difficulties  may  be,  experience  shows 
that  it  certainly  does  work."  1 

(1)  Superficially,  this  contention  sounds  plausible;  and  it 
is,  of  all  contemporary  arguments,  perhaps  the  most  widely 
welcomed.  But  its  cogency  rests  upon  a  rather  obvious 
confusion — 'an  ambiguity,  namely,  in  the  word  "work." 
The  heliocentric  theory  "works"  in  the  sense  that  it  fits 
all  observed  facts.  It  is  like  an  attempted  reconstruction 
of  a  ruined  temple;  if  the  original  plan  has  been  rightly 
grasped,  a  place  will  be  found  for  each  fragment.  Scientific 
theories  have  this  sort  of  "verification  in  experience"  — 
they  lead  us  to  expect,  on  a  given  occasion,  a  given  phenom- 
enon; if  we  find  what  we  were  led  to  expect,  the  theory  is 
in  so  far  verified.  Whatever  is  observed  to  happen  is  in 
harmony  with  the  theory,  and  no  consequences  logically 
deduced  from  the  theory  are  found  not  to  happen.  But 
the  theological  beliefs  supported  by  this  argument  do  not 
"work"  in  that  sense.  They  "work"  in  the  sense  that  they 
console  and  inspire  men  —  which  is  a  very  different  matter. 
So,  when  Schiller  writes,  "Religious  postulates  need  con- 
firmation as  much  as  those  of  science.  The  true  claim  of 
religious  experience  is  that  they  receive  it  after  their  kind; 
that,  e.g.,  prayer  'works.'  that  it  really  uplifts  and  consoles*."-..2 
we  may  reply  that  the  uplifting  and  consoling  power  of 
prayer  proves  only  —  that  prayer  uplifts  and  consoles;  a 
fact  which  was  never  in  question.  In  such  a  case  it  is  not 
the  truth  of  the  belief  but  the  practical  efficacy  of  the  belief 
which  is  verified.  If  a  man  prays,  believing  that  God  hears 
him,  his  belief  comforts  him  and  his  prayer  inspires  him, 
whether  his  belief  is  true  or  an  illusion* 

"James,  Pragmatism,  p.  99.  2  Riddles  of  the  Sphinx,  p.  468. 

3  Cf.  Dickinson,  op.  tit.,  p.  44:  "The  fact  that  a  belief  works  is  no  proof 


Mi  PHILOSOPHICAL 

Granting,  then,  that  the  traditional  Christian  conception 
of  God  and  a  future  life  has  been  an  enormous  stimulus  to 
morality,  and  has  "worked  well"  in  making  men  good  and 
happy,  what  does  that  fact  prove?  Simply  that  it  has  been 
a  fortunate  thing  for  men  that  at  a  certain  stage  in  their 
civilization  they  could  believe  such  a  world-conception. 
The  fact  that  the  belief  has  been  inspiring  is  not  in  the  slight- 
est degree  evidence  that  it  is  true.  We  have  many  instances 
of  illusions  and  dreams  that  have  helped  men  to  be  good 
and  happy,  that  nevertheless  turned  out  to  be  untrue.1 
If  a  lover  believes  in  his  sweetheart's  fidelity,  and  is  thereby 
quickened  to  do  and  be  his  best,  those  valuable  results  do 
in  no  wise  prove  that  she  is  faithful,  as  many  a  lover  has 
learned.  Believing  that  the  universe  is  friendly  to  us  warms 
and  kindles  us;  but  it  is  the  belief  that  has  that  beneficent 
effect,  not  the  fact  that  the  universe  really  is  (if  it  is) 
friendly.2 

of  its  validity,  but  only  of  its  efficacy.  Its  validity  can  only  be  tested  by 
the  ordinary  processes  of  criticism.  And  this  is  a  fact  which  it  will,  I  think, 
be  increasingly  impossible  for  the  most  religious  and  the  most  candid  to 
deny.  There  is  no  general  presumption  that  what  is  helpful  and  good  is 
also  true." 

And  Perry,  op.  cit.,  p.  2G5:  "A  highly  agreeable  or  inspiring  idea,  or  a 
belief  that  disposes  the  mind  to  peace  and  contentment,  may  be  of  all  ideas 
the  least  fitted  to  prepare  the  mind  for  what  is  to  befall  it.  In  other  words, 
such  emotional  value  is  irrelevant  to  truth  value,  in  the  strict  sense." 

1  How  can  such  a  statement  as  this  be  supported? — '"It  is  surely  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  there  are  in  the  long  run  of  history  any  beneficial 
illusions."  "It  is  the  truth  in  any  idea  that  makes  it  useful."  (D.  S.  Miller, 
professor  of  Apologetics  in  General  Theological  Seminary,  in  an  address 
to  the  clergy  of  the  diocese  of  Pennsylvania,  December,  1914.)  If  the 
universe  is  indifferent  to  us,  would  it  not  be  a  beneficent  illusion  if  men 
could  always  go  on  believing  it  to  be  at  heart  friendly?  Precisely  the  good 
consequences  which  have  followed  from  that  belief  would  continue  to  fol- 
low from  it,  so  long  as  men  held  it  —  even  if,  all  the  time,  it  has  been  an 
untrue  belief. 

2  This  simple  discrimination  takes  the  wind  out  of  any  number  of  con- 
temporary arguments.  For  example,  this  of  Carl  Hilty,  in  his  widely  read 
little  book  on  Happiness:  "The  mark  by  which  the  near  presence  of  God's 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  345 

(2)  But  leaving  this  popular  and  unscientific  meaning  of 
the  term  "works,"  let  us  grant  that  a  theological  belief 
works  in  the  same  sense  in  which  the  atomic  theory  works 
—  namely,  that  it  is  a  theory  which  actually  does  explain 
observed  facts.  We  must  then  admit  that  our  belief  has  only 
the  status  of  a  hypothesis,  and  that  its  probability  is  only 
that  of  the  degree  in  which  the  observed  facts  accord  with 
it.  Scientific  theories  are  frankly  hypotheses,  to  be  held 
provisionally  and  doubted  or  discarded  as  soon  as  they  cease 
to  explain  phenomena.  Moreover,  if  alternative  hypotheses 
are  suggested,  each  of  which  seems  to  explain  some  of  the 
facts  but  to  be  belied  by  other  facts,  they  are  both  regarded 
as  only  possibilities.  A  hypothesis  is  not  proved  true  simply 
because  it  is  a  conceivable  way  of  explaining  certain  facts. 
One  must  ask  the  further  questions,  Are  there  any  facts 
that  seem  to  disagree  with  it?  and,  Is  there  any  other  hypoth- 
esis which  fits  observed  facts  equally  well?  There  are  all 
degrees  of  probability  for  theories.  Many  a  one  long  gen- 
erally accepted,  because  it  fitted  known  facts,  has  had  to  be 
discarded  when  new  facts  were  learned;  and  one  little  ugly 
fact  that  refuses  to  harmonize  with  a  theory  is  enough,  if 
it  is  indisputable,  to  disprove  it. 

What,  then,  is  the  status,  scientifically  considered,  of  the 

spirit  is  made  irrefutably  clear  to  those  who  have  ever  had  the  experience 
is  the  utterly  incomparable  feeling  of  happiness  which  is  connected  with 
the  nearness,  and  which  is  therefore  not  only  a  possible  and  altogether 
proper  feeling  for  us  to  have  here  below,  but  is  the  best  and  most  indispen- 
sable proof  of  God's  reality.  No  other  proof  is  equally  convincing,  and 
therefore  happiness  is  the  point  from  which  every  efficacious  new  theology 
should  start." 

But  how  can  the  happiness  which  a  belief  gives  be  considered  a  proof  of 
its  truth?  A  comforting  belief  gives  happiness  in  proportion  to  its  sup- 
posed certainty,  not  in  proportion  to  its  actual  truth.  Just  the  fact  of  believ- 
ing in  the  near  presence  of  God,  and  being  inspired  by  that  belief  to  a 
deeper  consecration  and  appreciation  of  life  is  the  evident  cause  of  the 
happiness.  The  further  question,  whether  that  sweet  belief  is  a  true  belief  or 
an  illusion,  must  look  elsewhere  for  its  answer. 


346  PHILOSOPHICAL 

traditional  theological  beliefs?  It  must  be  confessed  that 
it  is  very  precarious.  The  average  theologian  needs  training 
in  scientific  method.  He  finds  facts  that  fit  into  his  scheme, 
and  at  once  considers  it  verified.  But  how  about  those  un- 
pleasant facts  which  refuse  to  fit  into  it?  And  has  he  can- 
didly considered  the  various  rival  hypotheses  which  are  in 
the  field,  and  ascertained  that  his  belief  explains  more  facts 
than  any  other?  Is  he  willing  to  admit  that  his  cherished 
beliefs  are  but  hypotheses,  which  stand,  not  by  any  means 
on  a  par  with  the  theories  of  astronomy  —  from  which  the 
most  intricate  deductions  can  be  made,  and  verified  to  a 
hair's  breadth  by  subsequent  happenings  —  but  on  a  par 
with  the  belief,  say,  in  the  ether,  or  the  electronic  theory  of 
matter? 

The  belief  in  the  existence  of  other  human  minds  is, 
strictly  speaking,  a  mere  hypothesis.  But  it  is  a  hypothesis 
resting  upon  innumerable  facts  and  contradicted  by  none. 
We  see  that  our  own  movements,  gestures,  spoken  words, 
facial  expression,  correspond  to  our  mental  states;  then  we 
see  similar  movements  and  hear  similar  words  coming  from 
bodies  like  our  own.  Those  bodies  have  had  the  same  gene- 
sis that  ours  have  had;  ours  came  indeed  from  one  of  them, 
and  others  have  perhaps  come  from  ours.  The  inference  is 
irresistible  that  "behind"  these  other  bodies  live  minds  like 
our  own.  We  try  to  deduce  the  workings  of  those  minds, 
and  predict  from  our  past  observations  what  acts  those  other 
beings  will  perform.  Our  predictions  in  general  come  true; 
where  they  do  not,  it  is  usually  possible  for  us  to  see  the 
flaw  in  our  reasoning.  There  is  no  escape  from  the  conviction 
that  our  experienced  mind-body  relation  is  paralleled  in  all 
human  beings.  .  .  .  But  is  it  so  with  the  hypothesis  of  a 
divine  mind?  It  is  conceivable  that  we  do  see,  in  the  stellar 
universe,  a  vast  body  "behind"  which  exists  a  vast  mind, 
or  that  a  divine  mind  exists  without  a  visible  body.    It  is 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  347 

conceivable  that  some  of  the  saints  and  prophets  have  been 
right  in  thinking  they  heard  an  audible  voice  that  was  God's. 
A  great  number  of  arguments  have  been  offered,  the  more 
important  of  which  we  have  examined,  which  aim  to  deduce 
from  observed  facts  the  existence  of  such  a  Mind  behind 
Nature.1  But  there  is  obviously  no  such  evidence  as  for  the 
existence  of  our  fellow  human  minds.  And  there  are  facts  — 
notably  the  existence  of  so  much  evil  in  the  world  —  which 
do  not  seem  to  fit  the  hypothesis  at  all.  Consequently,  such 
beliefs  as  that  in  the  personality  or  the  creative  function  of 
God  cannot  be  said  to  be  at  present,  scientifically  consid- 
ered, more  than  highly  interesting,  but  far  from  proved, 
working  hypotheses. 

(3)  If,  however,  the  argument  is  valid  at  all,  it  proves 
too  much.  There  have  been  a  great  many,  mutually  con- 
tradictory, faiths  that  have  "worked"  successfully.  Does 
that  prove  them  all  true?  No  faith  ever  worked  more 
startlingly  than  Christian  Science;  does  that  prove  its  doc- 
trine true?  Schiller  says  to  this,  "If  all  religions  work,  all 
are  true;  and  what  is  false  is  the  rigidity  of  an  idea  which 
cannot  tolerate  such  plural  truth."  2  But  is  it  necessary  to 
come  to  such  a  conclusion?  May  it  not  be  that  there  is 
"some  truth  in"  all  religions,  and  that  none  is  true  Ueber- 
haupt?   Religions  are  complex;  it  may  be  only  certain  ele- 

1  Space  limitations  have  made  necessary  the  exclusion  of  the  more 
technically  metaphysical  arguments.  I  especially  regret  the  omission  of 
the  pantheistic  and  transcendental  arguments.  Good  examples  of  the 
former  may  be  found  in  Fechner's  writings,  and  in  F.  Paulsen's  Introduc- 
tion to  Philosophy;  of  the  latter,  in  Josiah  Royce's  writings,  and  (briefly) 
in  Galloway's  Philosophy  of  Religion,  chap,  xi;  or  in  Foundations  (several 
authors.  The  Macmillan  Co.),  chap.  ix. 

Criticisms  of  arguments  of  this  stripe  may  be  found  in  Perry's  Present 
Philosophical  Tendencies,  pt.  in;  W.  James,  A  Pluralistic  Universe,  lects.  n 
and  v;  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  Studies  in  Humanism,  chap,  xn;  W.  H.  Mallock,  Re- 
ligion as  a  Credible  Doctrine,  chap,  x;  A.  Seth,  Ilegclianism  and  Personality. 

2  Riddles  of  the  Sphinx,  p.  469. 


348  PHILOSOPHICAL 

ments  in  the  religion  that  were  valuable;  and  those  ele- 
ments may  not  be  contradictory  of  the  valuable  elements 
in  the  other  faiths.  Even,  then,  if  it  is  not  true,  as  argued 
above,  that  religions  "work"  successfully  independently 
of  their  truth  or  falsehood,  it  would  still  be  a  difficult  matter 
to  show  which  element  of  a  religious  system  was  proved 
true  by  its  success,  in  view  of  the  marked  success  of  so  many 
irreconcilable  systems. 

(4)  But  all  of  this  still  does  not  touch  the  genuine  prag- 
matist.  For  when  one  studies  the  pragmatic  philosophy 
itself  one  finds  that  what  it  is,  is  precisely  a  new  theory  of 
the  nature  of  truth.  Truth,  to  the  radical  pragmatist,  is  suc- 
cessful working;  that  is  all  he  means  by' truth,  all,  he  asserts, 
that  the  term  "truth"  can  mean.1  Pragmatism  rejects 
belief  in  everything  beyond  experience;  it  is  really  the  most 
thorough  skepticism.  Schiller  writes  scornfully  of  "the  tra- 
ditional dogma  of  an  absolute  truth  and  ultimate  reality 
existing  for  themselves  apart  from  human  agency."  2  For 
him  "  the  truest  religion  is  that  which  issues  in  and  fosters 
the  best  life"3 — -simply  because  that  is  what  he  calls  the 
"truest"  religion.  So  James  tells  us  that  "the  true  is  the 
name  of  whatever  proves  itself  to  be  good  in  the  way  of  be- 

1  Cf.  James,  The  Meaning  of  Truth,  and  Pragmatism ;  and  F.  C.  S. 
Schiller's,  John  Dewey's,  A.  W.  Moore's  writings,  in  a  number  of  places. 
Professor  D.  C.  Macintosh  (in  his  Problem  of  Knoniedge,  p.  410),  calls 
this  hyper-pragmatism.  The  doctrine  which  I  have  just  been  opposing, 
that  whatever  "  works  "  practically  is  thereby  proved  to  be  true  (in  con- 
trast with  this  still  more  radical  doctrine  that  the  practical  working  is 
all  we  mean  by  its  truth),  he  calls  pseudo-pragmatism.  Thus  he  reserves 
the  name  pragmatism  itself  for  the  mild  doctrine  that  the  test  of  truth  is 
ultimately  practical,  residing  in  the  consequences  which  follow  from  a 
hypothesis.  I  am  quite  willing  to  adopt  this  nomenclature,  and  to  call 
the  doctrines  I  attack  distortions  or  excesses  of  pragmatism.  But  we 
must  confess  that  these  distortions  of  the  true  pragmatism  have  been 
voiced  by  the  leaders  of  the  movement,  and  constitute  in  the  popular 
mind  its  very  essence  —  and  its  attractiveness. 

2  Humanism,  p.  9.  3  Studies  in  Humanism,  p.  369. 


PRAGMATIC  ARGUMENTS  349 

lief."  *  "If  theological  ideas  prove  to  have  a  value  for  con- 
crete life,  they  will  be  true,  for  pragmatism,  in  the  sense  of 
being  good  for  so  much."  2  Of  the  doctrine  of  the  Absolute, 
which  he  does  his  best  to  demolish,  he  tells  us  that,  prag- 
matically considered,  it  is,  after  all,  true;  for  it,  in  its  way, 
"works,"  and  that  "working"  constitutes  its  truth.  But 
what  then  does  the  doctrine  of  the  absolute  mean,  when 
pragmatically  interpreted?  It  means  simply  "that  we  have 
a  right  ever  and  anon  to  take  a  moral  holiday,  to  let  the 
world  wag  in  its  own  way.  ...  If  the  absolute  means  this, 
and  means  no  more  than  this,  who  can  possibly  deny  the 
truth  of  it?  To  deny  it  would  be  to  insist  that  men  should 
never  relax,  and  that  holidays  are  never  in  order."  3  So 
with  the  belief  in  a  Designer  God.  Since  reality  consists  only 
of  experience,  "a  vague  confidence  in  the  future  is  the  sole 
pragmatic  meaning  at  present  discernible  in  the  terms 
design  and  designer."  4 

Well  and  good,  then.  "Since  the  truth  of  an  idea  means 
merely  the  fact  that  the  idea  works,  that  fact  is  all  you  mean 
when  you  say  the  idea  is  true."  5  If  you  say  that  the  belief 
in  God  is  true,  you  mean  only  that  the  belief  works  well 
in  human  life.  "Other  than  this  practical  significance,  the 
words  God,  free-will,  design,  etc.,  have  none."  6  All  of 
which  limitation  of  meaning  is  legitimate  enough  if  one  on 
principle  refuses  to  admit  the  possibility  of  existences  out- 
side this  present  flux  of  "  pure  experience."  But  if  one  is 
interested  in  the  possibility  of  a  God  who  is  a  conscious  Being, 
now  living  and  working  outside  of  our  experience;  if  one 
is  interested  in  finding  out,  not  whether  such  a  belief  works 
well,  but  whether  it  is,  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  true, 
a  bona  fide  pragmatism  has  no  comfort  to  offer. 

1  Pragmatism,  p.  76.  2  Ibid.,  p.  73.   My  italics. 

3  Ibid.,  pp.  74-75.  4  Ibid.,  p.  115. 

6  Pratt,  op.  tit.,  p.  206.  6  James,  op.  tit.,  p.  121. 


350  PHILOSOPHICAL 

Pragmatic  arguments:  Kant,  Critique  of  Practical  Reason,  bk. 
ii,  chap.  ii.  W.  James,  Pragmatism;  "Reflex  Action  and  Theism" 
(in  The  Will  to  Believe).  W.  H.  Mallock,  Religion  as  a  Credible 
Doctrine,  chap.  xn.  E.  H.  Rowland,  Right  to  Believe,  chap.  n. 
E.  Boutroux,  Science  and  Religion  in  Contemporary  Philosophy, 
pt.  ii,  chaps,  iii-iv.  E.  W.  Lyman,  Theology  and  Human  Problems 
chap.  iv.  G.  R.  Montgomery,  The  Unexplored  Self.  F.  C.  S. 
Schiller,  Riddles  of  the  Sphinx:  Appendix  in;  Humanism,  I,  xvin. 
G.  M.  Stratton,  Psychology  of  the  Religious  Life,  chap.  xxv. 

Criticisms:  J.  M.  E.  McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Religion, 
chaps,  n,  viii.  R.  B.  Perry,  Present  Philosophical  Tendencies,  pt. 
iv.  B.  Russell,  Philosophical  Essays,  iv-x.  J.  B.  Pratt,  What  is 
Pragmatism?  Lectures  v-vi.  W.  Riley,  American  Thought,  chap, 
rx.  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific  Methods,  vol. 
5,  p.  90;  vol.  9,  p.  406. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON  SCIENCE 

One  of  the  most  instinctive  methods  of  self-defense  is  to 
say,  "You're  another!"  And  in  recent  years  many  a  hard- 
pressed  theologian,  obliged  to  admit  the  flaws  in  his  apolo- 
getic, has  turned  upon  science  with  a  Tu  quoque.  If  theology 
has  been  built  upon  the  sand,  are  the  doctrines  of  natural 
science  any  better  based?  The  defenders  of  tradition,  so 
long  fighting  a  losing  battle,  have  turned  upon  their  oppo- 
nents with  what  would  be  called  in  military  parlance  an 
offensive-defensive;  they  have  carried  the  war  into  Africa. 
A  thoroughgoing  attempt  has  been  made  to  discredit  human 
knowledge  in  general,  in  order  in  the  universal  shipwreck  to 
assert  that  one  belief  is  no  freer  from  fallacy  than  another, 
and  that  therefore  we  need  not  hesitate  to  retain  our  theo- 
logical beliefs,  however  riddled  by  objections  they  may  be. 
The  most  skillful  and  influential,  probably,  of  these  counter- 
attacks upon  science  is  Mr.  Balfour's  sensational  book,  The 
Foundations  of  Belief.  But  the  point  of  view  therein  main- 
tained has  found  expression  in  many  contemporary  essays. 
For  example,  in  a  widely  read  little  book  by  an  American 
college  teacher,  the  opening  argument  is  summed  up  in  the 
words,  "We  are  now  apparently  in  the  identical  position 
from  which  we  started.  Nothing  is  proved,  and  we  are  pre- 
pared as  before  to  believe  one  hypothesis  as  easily  as  the 
other."  *  If  theological  beliefs,  when  severely  scrutinized, 
are  found  to  be  less  certain  than  we  had  thought,  no  body  of 
supposed  truth  is  really  in  any  better  case;  and  to  point  out 

1  Rowland,  op.  cit.,  p.  30. 


352  PHILOSOPHICAL 

this  fact  gives  to  many  a  theologian  a  particular  and  holy 
glee.1  We  must  therefore  consider  the  leading  types  of  this 
radical  skepticism. 

Is  reason  untrustworthy  because  the  product  of  blind 
forces? 
Mr.  Balfour  writes  as  follows:2  "On  the  naturalistic 
hypothesis,  the  whole  premises  of  knowledge  are  clearly  due 
to  the  blind  operation  of  material  causes,  and  in  the  last 
resort  to  these  alone.  .  .  .  Reason  itself  is  the  result,  like 
nerves  or  muscles,  of  physical  antecedents.  .  .  .  [her]  prem- 
ises are  settled  for  her  by  purely  irrational  forces,  which  she 
is  powerless  to  control,  or  even  to  comprehend.  .  .  .  We  are 
to  suppose  that  powers  which  were  evolved  in  primitive 
man  and  his  animal  progenitors  in  order  that  they  might 
kill  with  success  and  marry  in  security,  are  on  that  account 
fitted  to  explain  the  secrets  of  the  universe.  We  are  to  sup- 
pose that  the  fundamental  beliefs  on  which  these  powers 
are  to  be  exercised  reflect  with  sufficient  precision  remote 
aspects  of  reality,  though  they  were  produced  in  the  main  by 
physiological  processes  which  date  from  a  stage  of  develop- 
ment when  the  only  curiosities  which  had  to  be  satisfied  were 
those  of  fear  and  those  of  hunger.  To  say  that  instruments 
of  research  constructed  solely  for  uses  like  these  cannot  be 
expected  to  supply  us  with  a  metaphysic  or  a  theology,  is  to 
say  far  too  little.  They  cannot  be  expected  to  give  us  any 
general  views  even  of  the  phenomenal  world,  or  to  do  more 
than  guide  us  in  comparative  safety  from  the  satisfaction 
of  one  useful  appetite  to  the  satisfaction  of  another."  In 
short,  our  reasoning  faculty,  being  the  product  of   blind 

1  Cf .  Perry,  op.  cit.,  p.  85 :  "  It  is  still  generally  assumed  that  the  suc- 
cess of  religion  is  conditioned  by  the  failure  of  science.  The  major  part  of 
contemporary  religious  philosophy  is  devoted  to  a  disproof  of  science." 

2  The  Foundations  of  Belief,  pp.  304-09. 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON   SCIENCE  353 

forces,  is  not  of  guaranteed  trustworthiness,  and  is  far 
likelier  to  lead  us  astray  than  to  conduct  us  safely  to  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  truth. 

(1)  This  argument,  it  may  be  noted  in  passing,  can  be 
answered  in  its  own  terms.  For  if  Mr.  Balfour's  supposition 
is  correct,  and  reason  is  untrustworthy,  then  his  own  reason- 
ing is  worthless,  and  his  attack  upon  science,  based  upon  it, 
has  no  cogency.  While  if  Mr.  Balfour's  real  belief  is  true, 
and  reason  is  not  the  product  of  blind  forces,  but  a  God- 
given  faculty,  the  argument  has  no  force  at  all.  As  a  recent 
writer  puts  it,  "There  must  be  some  fallacy  in  any  process 
of  reasoning  which  ends  by  discrediting  reason;  for  if  reason 
is  discredited,  the  reasoning  which  is  supposed  to  prove  it 
to  be  so  is  itself  discredited  in  advance."1 

(2)  It  is  more  profitable,  however,  to  point  out  that  al- 
though our  reasoning  powers  have  been  evolved  through  a 
blind  and  thoroughly  practical  struggle  for  existence,  and 
therefore  could  not  be  assumed  a  priori  to  be  trustworthy; 
and  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  man  can  wholly  trust  his 
own  particular  reasoning  powers;  yet, by  a  long  observation 
of  the  results  of  human  reasoning,  a  method  of  using  these 
powers  has  been  discovered  which,  when  accurately  carried 
out,  is  shown  by  repeated  experience  actually  to  lead  to 
trustworthy  conclusions.  This  method  is  taught  in  the 
textbooks  of  logic.  Whether  or  not  it  has  been  faithfully 
followed  in  any  concrete  piece  of  reasoning  is  to  be  decided 
only  by  the  careful  scrutiny  of  critics;  but  if  it  has  been 
faithfully  followed,  our  unbroken  experience  assures  us  that 
we  can  trust  its  results.  However,  then,  we  came  into  pos- 
session of  the  faculty  of  logical  reason,  our  confidence  in  it 
depends  not  upon  the  causes  that  produced  it  but  upon 
the  observed  accuracy  of  its  working  in  all  cases  where  we  can 
test  it  by  comparing  its  conclusions  with  actual  facts.    If, 

1  B.  S.  Streeter,  Restatement  and  Reunion,  p.  47. 


354  PHILOSOPHICAL 

for  example,  by  the  use  of  a  complicated  piece  of  reasoning 
we  can  predict  an  eclipse  of  the  moon  at  9.35  p.m.  on  De- 
cember 1,  ten  years  ahead;  and  if,  when  the  time  comes,  that 
eclipse  takes  place  at  the  moment  predicted,  no  amount 
of  dust-throwing  at  the  faculty  of  reason  will  serve  to  dis- 
credit it  in  our  eyes.  Since,  then,  the  method  of  logical  rea- 
soning has  been  verified  by  such  subsequent  observations  in 
innumerable  cases,  and  since  wherever  a  concrete  piece  of 
reasoning  has  been  belied  by  such  observations  it  has  been 
possible  to  discover  some  inadvertent  disloyalty  to  the 
method,  we  have  every  reason  for  trusting  the  method 
in  those  cases  where  we  are  unable  to  test  its  results  by 
observation. 

Is  science  based  upon  unproved  and  self-contradictory 
postulates? 

Trustworthy  as  the  method  of  logic  may  be,  however,  the 
truth  of  any  conclusion  will  be  contingent  upon  the  truth 
of  the  premises  from  which  its  proof  starts;  if  these  are 
merely  assumed,  the  whole  structure  of  supposed  knowledge 
that  rests  upon  them  is,  likewise,  merely  assumed;  and  if, 
in  addition,  those  premises  are  found,  upon  examination, 
to  be  actually  self-contradictory,  the  supposed  body  of 
knowledge  has  no  validity  at  all.  That  such  is  the  case  with 
the  traditional  theological  dogmas,  Mr.  Balfour  admits;  but 
he  declares  that  it  is  also  the  case  with  our  whole  body  of 
science.  "All  branches  of  knowledge  would  appear  to  stand 
very  much  upon  an  equality.  In  all  of  them  conclusions 
seem  more  stable  than  premises,  the  superstructure  more 
stable  than  the  foundation."  "One  great  metaphysician 
has  described  the  system  of  another  as  '  shot  out  of  a  pistol,' 
meaning  thereby  that  it  was  presented  for  acceptance 
without  introductory  proof.  .  .  .  The  circumstance  that  all 
men  arc  practically  agreed  to  accept  ['positive  knowledge'] 


THE   COUNTER-ATTACK   UPON   SCIENCE  355 

without  demur,  has  blinded  them  to  the  fact  that  it,  too, 
has  been  'shot  out  of  a  pistol.'"  x 

Moreover,  these  underlying  postulates  of  science  can 
be  shown  to  be  full  of  inconceivabilities.  "Space,  time, 
matter,  motion,  force,  and  so  forth,  are  each  in  turn  shown 
to  involve  contradictions  which  it  is  beyond  our  power  to 
solve,  and  obscurities  which  it  is  beyond  our  power  to  pene- 
trate." 2  This  supposed  demonstration  of  the  existence  of 
hopeless  dialectical  difficulties  in  ultimate  scientific  ideas 
goes  back  to  Kant's  famous  "  Antinomies,"  Sir  William 
Hamilton's  paradoxes,  and  Spencer's  ponderous  argument 
at  the  threshold  of  his  huge  philosophical  system.  The  net 
result,  for  these  thinkers  and  their  followers,  is  that  we 
cannot  conceive  of  space  and  time  as  finite  or  as  infinite; 
we  cannot  conceive  of  force  as  material  or  immaterial;  we 
cannot  conceive  how  motion  takes  place,  how  one  body  acts 
upon  another;  in  short,  we  can  form  no  clear  ideas  of  any  of 
these  ultimate  realities,  Science,  then,  resting  as  it  does 
upon  these  concepts,  is  vitiated  throughout  by  their  ob- 
scurity. "As  soon  as  the  ' unthinkableness '  of  'ultimate' 
scientific  ideas  is  speculatively  recognized,  the  fact  must 
react  upon  our  speculative  attitudes  towards  'proximate' 
scientific  ideas.  That  which  in  the  order  of  reason  is  de- 
pendent cannot  be  unaffected  by  the  weaknesses  and  the 
obscurities  of  that  on  which  it  depends.  If  the  one  is  unin- 
telligible, the  other  can  hardly  be  rationally  established."  3 

1  The  Foundations  of  Belief,  pp.  291,  293-94.  2  Ibid.,  p.  292. 

3  Ibid.,  pp.  291,  93-94,  294-95.  So  Rowland,  op.  cit.,  p.  27:  "All  thought 
must  proceed  on  certain  unproved  and  inconceivable  assumptions."  Mal- 
lock,  op.  cit.,  p.  281:  "If  we  allowed  ourselves  to  believe  in  the  existence 
of  those  things  only  which  do  not,  when  our  intellect  analyses  them,  con- 
front us  at  last  with  contradictions,  the  plain  truth  is  that  we  must  con- 
tent ourselves  with  believing  in  nothing."  Schiller,  Riddles  of  the  Sphinx, 
p.  46G:  "No  doubt  it  is  true  that  science  also  ultimately  rests  on  acts 
of  faith";  and  Humanism,  p.  349:  "The  premise  has  to  be  assumed  or 
conceded  in  every  demonstration.    The  utmost  we  can  do  is  to  rest  our 


356  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(1)  Bui  these  supposed  paradoxes  concerning  time,  space, 
motion,  and  the  other  high  abstractions  of  science,  have 
been  one  by  one  patiently  unraveled.1  Messrs.  Kant, 
Spencer,  et  al.,  made  themselves  a  lot  of  unnecessary  and 
gratuitous  trouble.  These  'ultimate'  ideas  are  not  incon- 
ceivable. Some  of  them  are,  indeed,  unpicturable;  we  can- 
not conceive  infinite  space,  e.g.,  pictorially  in  full.  But  we 
can  picture  a  part,  and  have  the  feeling  that  there  is  no  bound- 
ary; we  can  so  set  our  minds  that  it  will  reject  the  thought 
of  a  limit  as  incompatible  with  its  conception.  And  this  is 
all  that  is  necessary.  Conceptions  do  not  need  to  be  visu- 
alized at  all,  much  less  to  be  visualized  in  full;  what  is  im- 
portant is  the  disposition  of  the  mind.  Introspection  will 
show  that  most  of  our  abstract  conceptions  consist,  psy- 
chologically considered,  of  unnameable  mental  stuff,  ten- 
sions and  releases,  and  vague  associations.  In  this  way  our 
"ultimate  scientific  ideas"  can  be  conceived  as  adequately 
as  is  necessary  to  serve  their  purpose. 

Moreover,  the  fact  that  a  suggested  possibility  was  "in- 
conceivable" would  be  no  proof  that  the  facts  were  not  so. 
If  our  minds  are  incapable  of  conceiving  certain  aspects 
of  the  universe,  we  cannot  set  up  our  mental  limitations  as 
limiting  outer  existence.  Self-contradiction  in  a  conception 
is,  indeed,  enough  to  discredit  it;  for  self-contradiction  con- 
sists in  unsaying  what  we  are  in  the  same  breath  saying, 
and  its  net  result  is  a  mutual  cancellation  of  assertions 
that  leaves  nothing  asserted.    But  except  for  this  test,  any 

demostration  on  an  assumption  so  fundamental  that  none  will  dare  to 
question  it;  and  this  we  here  seem  to  have  accomplished.  For  what  could 
be  more  fundamental  than  the  assumption  on  which  the  ethical  argument 
rests —  that  the  elements  of  our  experience  admit  of  being  harmonized,  that 
the  world  is  truly  a  cosmos?  "  [i.e.,  as  Schiller  means,  a  moral  order,  an 
order  arranged  to  satisfy  our  needs.]  * 

1  See,  e.g.,  Mill's  Examination  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy, 
chap.  vi.   W.  James,  .Some  Problems  of  Philosophy,  chaps,  x-xi. 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON  SCIENCE  357 

conception  is  valid  as  a  conception;  whether  it  is  true  or  not 
can  only  be  judged  by  observation  of  the  facts.  Time  and 
space  may  be  either  finite  or  infinite,  for  all  we  know:  the 
fact  that  men  have  difficulty  in  imagining  either  alternative 
reflects  only  upon  the  weakness  of  their  imaginations. 

(2)  But  however  confused  our  ideas  of  time,  space,  and 
motion  are,  we  at  least  have  good  reason  to  know  that  they 
correspond  to  some  reality.  To  deny  their  existence  because 
we  cannot  give  an  intelligible  account  of  them  would  be 
on  a  par  with  denying  my  own  existence  because  I  do  not 
understand  the  nature  of  consciousness.  To  doubt  the  ex- 
istence of  my  life  after  death,  on  the  other  hand,  or  of  a 
personal  God  now,  is  far  less  absurd;  not  because  we  have 
difficulty  in  conceiving  those  possibilities,  but  because  we 
lack  evidence  of  their  existence  at  all.  At  least,  we  are  not 
flatly  confronted  with  their  existence,  as  we  are  with  the 
existence  of  time,  space,  and  motion,  or  with  our  own  con- 
scious existence.  So  to  assume  that  because  all  ultimate 
ideas  are  vague  and  dubious,  the  realities  to  which  they 
correspond  are  equally  dubious,  and  that  therefore  we  may 
as  well  believe  in  any  ultimate  realities  that  it  satisfies  our 
souls  to  believe  in,  is  to  blur  one  of  our  most  obvious  and 
necessary  distinctions,  that  between  an  inadequate  idea 
of  an  indubitable  fact  and  an  inadequate  idea  of  a  doubtful 
fact. 

(3)  And  after  all,  even  if  our  notions  of  time,  space,  matter, 
ether,  etc.,  are  to  be  discredited,  the  great  body  of  science 
is  not  discredited  thereby.  For  these  "ultimate"  ideas  are 
wrongly  conceived  as  "postulates"  upon  which  science 
"rests."  They  are  rather  its  last  and  least  certain  generali- 
zations. Science  rests  upon  millions  of  concrete  observa- 
tions; its  laws  are  shorthand  summaries  of  those  observations, 
a  systematized  account  of  experience.  No  inadequacy  in 
our  conception  of  space  or  time  can  vitiate  the  conclusions 


358  PHILOSOPHICAL 

of  astronomy;  eclipses  of  the  moon  do  take  place  in  accord- 
ance with  predictions,  the  planets  do  appear  at  their  ap- 
pointed times.  Thus  the  great  body  of  truth  that  con- 
stitutes a  science  is  not  contingent  upon  those  highest 
abstractions  or  remote  deductions  which  are  based  upon  it.1 
So  is  it  with  the  facts  of  religious  experience.  No  doubt 
of  the  existence  of  a  personal  God  can  impugn  the  actual  facts 
of  conversion,  or  of  the  purity  and  peace  to  which  the  re- 
ligious soul  attains.  The  great  structure  of  the  religious  life 
will  not  topple  and  go  to  pieces  because  "ultimate  religious 
ideas"  are  dubious.  Rather,  it  is  the  province  of  theology 
to  take  these  concrete  and  indubitable  facts  as  its  founda- 
tion-stones; and  only  as  the  structure  nears  completion  can 
it  hope  for  a  clear  vision  of  those  highest  truths  which  rest, 
like  the  vaulted  dome  of  a  cathedral,  upon  the  great  masses 
of  masonry  patiently  accumulated  beneath. 

Is  science  based  upon  purely  subjective  data? 

A  more  radical  criticism  of  science  is  that  since  it  uses  for 
its  data  our  sensations,  which  are  subjective  and  personal 
facts,  its  conclusions  cannot  be  trusted  as  objectively  true. 
Mr.  Balfour  writes:  "We  need  only  to  consider  carefully  our 
perceptions  regarded  as  psychological  results,  in  order  to 
see  that,  regarded  as  sources  of  information,  they  are  not 
merely    occasionally    inaccurate,    but    habitually    menda- 

1  Cf.  Spencer,  First  Principles,  chap,  i,  sec.  5:  "Science  is  simply  a  higher 
development  of  common  knowledge;  if  science  is  repudiated,  all  knowledge 
must  be  repudiated  along  with  it.  The  extremest  bigot  will  not  suspect  any 
harm  in  the  observation  that  the  sun  rises  earlier  and  sets  later  in  the  sum- 
mer than  in  the  winter.  Well,  astronomy  is  an  organized  body  of  similar 
observations,  made  with  greater  nicety,  extended  to  a  larger  number  of 
objects.  And  thus  it  is  with  all  the  sciences.  They  severally  germinate  out 
of  the  experiences  of  daily  life;  insensibly  as  they  grow  they  draw  in  re- 
moter, more  numerous,  and  more  complex  experiences;  and  among  these, 
they  ascertain  laws  of  dependence  like  those  which  make  up  our  knowl- 
edge of  the  most  familiar  objects."   (Abridged.) 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK   UPON  SCIENCE  359 

cious.  .  .  .  Nine-tenths  of  our  immediate  experiences  of 
objects  are  visual;  and  all  visual  experiences,  without  ex- 
ception, are,  according  to  science,  erroneous.  As  everybody 
knows,  colour  is  not  a  property  of  the  thing  seen;  it  is 
a  sensation  produced  in  us  by  that  thing.  ...  In  what 
entanglements  of  contradiction  do  we  not  find  ourselves 
involved  by  the  attempt  to  rest  science  upon  observations 
which  science  itself  declares  to  be  erroneous?  .  .  .  Can  we  by 
any  possible  treatment  of  sensations  and  feelings  legiti- 
mately squeeze  out  of  them  trustworthy  knowledge  of  the 
permanent  and  independent  material  universe  of  which, 
according  to  science,  sensations  and  feelings  are  but  tran- 
sient and  evanescent  effects?"  l 

To  take  a  familiar  concrete  case,  one  man  sees  a  rose  as  a 
red  object,  another,  whom  we  call  "color-blind,"  sees  it  as  a 
gray  object;  if  a  third  man  had  optical  organs  somewhat  dif- 
ferently made,  he  might  see  it  blue  or  yellow  or  brown.  Since, 
then,  the  color  we  see  depends  upon  the  nature  of  our  eyes, 
how  can  we  possibly  tell  what  the  rose  is  like  in  itself?  In- 
deed, were  the  nerves  running  from  our  eyes  to  the  visual 
centers  in  our  brain  to  be  cut  and  spliced  with  the  nerves 
running  from  our  ears  to  the  auditory  tracts,  we  should 
doubtless  hear  everything  we  now  see  and  see  when  we  now 
hear.  In  short,  the  data  upon  which  we  base  our  supposed 
knowledge  of  an  outer  world  are  all  dependent,  for  their  pe- 
culiar quality,  upon  the  structure  of  our  brains  and  sense- 
organs;  and  the  knowledge  we  draw  from  them  is  knowledge 
rather  of  our  own  subjective  experiences  than  of  the  nature 
of  objective  reality.  Is  not  science  then,  after  all,  as  sub- 
jective as  theology? 

(1)  But  knowledge  of  our  own  experiences  is  knowledge 
of  the  most  valuable  sort;  and  to  enable  us  to  predict  what 
sensations  we  shall  have  under  given  circumstances  is  pre- 
1  The  Foundations  of  Belief,  pp.  111-19. 


360  PHILOSOPHICAL 

cisely  the  most  important  function  of  science.  Except  for 
slight  individual  variations,  which  can  be  allowed  for,  our 
sense-organs  and  brains  are  constructed  alike;  and  the  con- 
clusions of  one  investigator  hold  good  for  all  other  men.  If 
natural  science  is  thought  of  merely  as  a  detailed  description 
of  what  we  should  see  and  hear  and  feel  under  all  eventuali- 
ties, it  is  not  thereby  proved  "subjective"  in  any  disparag- 
ing sense;  it  is  still  strictly  determined  by  the  facts  as  they 
are  forced  upon  us,  and  not  affected  by  our  bias  or  desire. 
It  is  not  fair  to  call  our  observations  "mendacious,"  or 
"erroneous,"  because  they  are  our  observations,  bits  of  our 
conscious  experience,  unless  they  mislead  us.  But  —  except 
for  illusions  and  malobservations,  which  are  checked  by 
the  cooperation  of  many  observers  —  these  experiences  of 
ours  do  happen  in  accordance  with  regular  and  ascertain- 
able laws  of  cause  and  effect;  and  the  knowledge  of  those 
laws,  which  are  for  the  most  part  independent  of  our  volition, 
constitutes  a  highly  trustworthy  mass  of  scientific  truth. 

(2)  Moreover,  the  fact  that  these  sensations  are,  as  it  were, 
thrust  upon  us,  intruding  into  our  conscious  life  quite 
without  relevance  to  our  preceding  mental  states,  suggests 
strongly  that  they  are  due  to  outer  causes  and  not  to 
a  merely  inward  mental  evolution.  The  strongest  willing 
cannot  exorcise  these  sensations;  we  are  at  their  mercy.  A 
great  many  other  peculiarities  of  these  sensation-experiences, 
of  which  space  does  not  here  permit  even  a  summary,  com- 
pel us  to  believe  that  they  are  the  effects  in  us  of  an  outer 
world  of  realities  surrounding  us.  Subjective  idealism, 
which  would  limit  reality  to  the  conscious  experience  of  our 
several  minds,  and  define  science  as  merely  an  account  of 
"permanent  possibilities  of  sensation,"  is  not  only  repug- 
nant to  our  instinctive  beliefs,  but  philosophically  inde- 
fensible. Certainly  the  sight  of  a  man  killed  by  a  bullet,  or 
writhing  from  the  effects  of  poison  taken,  should  be  enough 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON  SCIENCE  361 

to  convince  any  one  that  we  are  in  the  grip  of  a  reality  bigger 
than  our  own  little  streams  of  experience,  a  reality  reflected, 
if  not  photographically  pictured,  by  our  sensations.  And 
whatever  the  degree  in  which  our  sensations  give  us  the 
qualitative  nature  of  this  outer  world,  they  at  least  give  us 
a  good  working  knowledge  of  it.  For  they  enable  us  to  steer 
our  way  safely  through  its  dangers  and  to  avail  ourselves  of 
its  resources.  So  we  may  have  great  confidence  that  science 
gives  us  not  only  truth  concerning  our  own  possible  ex- 
periences, but  in  some  sense  truth  concerning  the  objec- 
tive world.1 

Is  science  restricted  in  its  scope? 

If,  then,  we  may  accept  scientific  knowledge  as  valid, 
can  we  say  with  certain  theologians  that  it  is  valid  only 
within  a  restricted  field  or  only  of  a  certain  aspect  of  reality 
—  reserving  a  field  for  the  exclusive  domain  of  theology?  It 
has  long  been  the  habit  of  religious  philosophers  to  welcome 
the  scientific  method  as  applied  to  all  facts  except  those  of 
religion,  but  to  put  up  a  "No  trespassing"  sign  about  that 
sacred  enclosure,  using  therein  the  time-honored  and  more 
satisfying  methods  of  authority  or  a  'priori  reasoning.  But, 
as  we  saw  in  chapter  xvi,  this  reservation  is  not  warranted. 
If  the  scientific  method  gives  such  good  results  in  the  other 
fields,  why  not  apply  it  to  this  field  also?  Why  be  content  in 
these  most  important  of  all  matters  with  a  looser  and  less 
trustworthy  method?  "The  field  of  science  is  unlimited;  its 
material  is  endless,  every  group  of  natural  phenomena,  every 
phase  of  social  life,  every  stage  of  past  or  present  develop- 
ment is  material  for  science.  .  .  .  The  field  of   science  is 

1  The  present  writer  has  dwelt  at  length  upon  this  matter  in  the  dis- 
sertation referred  to,  and  in  the  following  papers:  Journal  of  Philosophy, 
Psychology,  and  Scientific  Methods,  vol.  8,  p.  365;  vol.  9,  p.  149.  Mind 
(N.S.),  vol.  24,  p.  29. 


362  PHILOSOPHICAL 

co-extensive  with  the  whole  life,  physical  and  mental,  of 
the  universe.  .  .  .  To  say  that  there  are  certain  fields  from 
which  science  is  excluded,  wherein  its  methods  have  no 
application,  is  merely  to  say  that  the  rules  of  methodical 
observation  and  the  laws  of  logical  thought  do  not  apply  to 
the  facts,  if  any,  which  lie  within  such  fields.  If  there  are 
facts,  and  sequences  to  be  observed  among  those  facts,  then 
we  have  all  the  requisites  of  scientific  classification  and 
knowledge.  If  there  are  no  facts,  or  no  sequence  to  be  ob- 
served among  them,  then  the  possibility  of  all  knowledge 
disappears.  .  .  .  There  is  no  short-cut  to  truth,  no  way  to 
gain  a  knowledge  of  the  universe  except  through  the  gate- 
way of  scientific  method.  The  hard  and  stony  path  of  classi- 
fying facts  and  reasoning  upon  them  is  the  only  way  to 
ascertain  truth."  x 

It  is  true  that  we  commonly  limit  the  name  "science"  to 
that  body  of  truth  which  is  a  mere  description  and  piecing 
out  of  the  data  of  our  experience.  The  question  how  far 
those  truths  hold  good  of  a  world  beyond  experience,  and 
what  the  nature  of  that  world  is,  in  itself  —  including  all 
other  minds  than  our  own  —  we  leave  to  metaphysics.  In 
so  far,  then,  as  theology  concerns  itself  with  an  inquiry  into 
the  existence  and  nature  of  a  personal  God  or  gods,  it  may 
properly  consider  its  task  as  lying  beyond  the  frontiers 
of  science.  But  the  same  spirit  and  method  that  have  made 
science  successful  must  be  employed  here  also.  Although 
no  further  observations  can  be  made  in  these  realms  beyond 
our  experience,  whatever  truth  is  to  be  ascertained  must  be 
based  upon  the  facts  offered  by  the  various  sciences;  meta- 
physical and  theological  hypotheses  can  be  granted  no  spe- 
cial indulgence,  but  must  stand  or  fall  according  to  the  com- 
pleteness and  the  exclusiveness  with  which  they  explain 
these  verified  facts. 

1  Pearson,  op.  cit.,  chap.  1. 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON   SCIENCE  363 

A  subtler  way  of  limiting  the  scope  of  science  is  to  permit 
it  to  invade  all  fields  but  to  insist  that  it  can  everywhere 
only  describe,  and  never  explain.  Paulsen  writes,  for  ex- 
ample, "Let  us  not  be  deceived!  Natural  science  will  never 
again  be  decoyed  from  its  path,  which  seeks  a  purely  phys- 
ical explanation  of  all  natural  phenomena.  There  may  be 
a  thousand  things  which  it  cannot  explain  now,  but  the 
fundamental  axiom  that  these  too  have  their  natural  causes 
and  therefore  a  natural-scientific  explanation,  will  never 
again  be  abandoned  by  science.  .  .  .  But  would  the  com- 
pletion of  the  natural-scientific  explanation  exhaust  our 
theoretical  interest  in  reality?  I  think  not.  For  now  a 
new  question  arises.  What  does  it  all  mean?  .  .  .  Every- 
thing must  occur  and  be  explained  physically;  and 
everything  must  be  considered  and  interpreted  metaphys- 
ically." » 

This  word  "meaning,"  as  used  by  Paulsen  and  others, 
is  ambiguous.  If  it  means  "plan,"  "purpose,"  "intention" 
—  whether  of  God  or  man  or  any  other  conscious  being  —  it 
lies  within  the  realm  of  fact,  and  is  to  be  ascertained  by  natu- 
ral science,  or  philosophy,  by  the  same  method  by  which  any 
facts  are  ascertained,  or  inferred.  If  it  means  "value,"  it 
lies  within  the  domain  of  moral  philosophy,  or  ethics  — 
wherein  a  similar  rigorously  scientific  method  must  also  be 
used.  Theology  must  deal,  no  doubt,  with  both  facts  and 
their  values  —  or  "meanings" — 'for  human  life;  but  in 
neither  aspect  of  its  inquiry  is  it  absolved  from  the  necessity 
of  building  its  conclusions  upon  the  concrete  data  of  obser- 
vation. So,  whether  or  not  we  shall  agree  to  restrict  the 
scope  of  "science"  is  merely  a  matter  of  convenience  of 
nomenclature;  whether  metaphysics  and  theology  are  to  be 
regarded  as  a  branch  of  science  or  as  separate  disciplines, 
they  must,  if  they  are  really  to  add  to  our  knowledge,  come 
1  F.  Paulsen,  Introduction  to  Philosophy,  pp.  161-62. 


364  PHILOSOPHICAL 

under  the  control  of  the  scientific  method.  There  is  no  other 
trustworthy  avenue  to  truth. 

Scientific  men,  of  course,  make  mistakes.  Sometimes  the 
available  evidence  is  slight,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  decide 
between  conflicting  generalizations.  Sometimes  the  inves- 
tigator is  insufficiently  trained,  or  lacking  in  caution,  or 
biased.  There  is  always  a  borderland  of  science,  near  its 
farthest  frontier,  where  all  is  uncertain,  and  where  a  theory 
viewed  with  favor  to-day  may  be  rejected  to-morrow. 
But  this  region  that  is  borderland  to-day  will  be  safely 
won  to-morrow;  and  behind  the  frontier  lies  a  vast  region 
of  thoroughly  ascertained  knowledge.  Thus,  while  we  must 
have  no  blind  reverence  for  scientists,  and  should  accept 
with  caution  the  latest  surmises  they  offer  us,  it  is  bad  tac- 
tics to  attack  science  in  general  in  the  interests  of  religion; 
the  ensuing  revulsion  of  feeling  is  bound  to  do  more  harm 
to  the  attacker.  "  The  fact  of  human  fallibility,  since  it 
may  be  urged  against  all  knowledge,  cannot  be  urged 
against  any.  It  justifies  a  certain  modesty  and  open-mind- 
edness  in  all  thinkers,  but  can  never  constitute  ground  for 
the  rejection  of  any  particular  theory.  Knowledge  can  only 
be  disproved  by  better  knowledge.  If  a  specific  scientific 
theory  is  doubtful,  well  and  good;  but  it  can  justly  be  re- 
garded as  doubtful  only  for  scientific  reasons,  and  these  had 
best  be  left  to  the  scientist  himself.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  add,  that  if  variety  and  change  of  opinion  are  to  be  urged 
against  any  branch  of  knowledge,  the  philosopher  of  re- 
ligion can  least  afford  to  urge  them.  For  of  all  cognitive 
enterprises  his  is  on  this  score  the  most  in  need  of  indul- 
gence." l 

It  is,  indeed,  a  poor  pass  for  religion  when  she  has  to  rest 
her  claims  on  an  attack  upon  the  validity  of  science.   For 

1  Perry,  op.  cit.,  p.  92. 


THE  COUNTER-ATTACK  UPON  SCIENCE  365 

science  is  the  most  successful  and  splendid  of  human  under- 
takings. Making  its  way  at  first  against  widespread  and 
strongly  entrenched  opposition,  it  has  gradually  won  gen- 
eral acceptance:  and  every  day  adds  to  its  triumphant  veri- 
fication of  its  conclusions.  Nothing  is  more  needful  for  the 
future  of  theology  than  that  it  desist  from  its  futile  ob- 
scurantism, its  impotent  struggle  against  its  now  stronger 
brother,  and  accept  openly  and  gladly  whatever  truths 
natural  science  has  discovered.  And  if  it  too  would  win  for 
man  a  permanent  and  unquestioned  body  of  truth,  it  must 
espouse  the  same  method,  and  become  itself  a  branch  of 
science,  or  of  a  scientific  philosophy. 

Attacks:  I.  Kant,  Critique  of  Pure  Reason:  Transcendental  Dia- 
lectic, bk.  ii,  chap.  II.  H.  Spencer,  First  Pri?iciples,  pt.  I. 
A.  J.  Balfour,  A  Defence  of  Philosophic  Doubt;  The  Foundations  of 
Belief.  J.  ^Yard,  Naturalism  and  Agnosticism.  G.  P.  Fisher, 
Grounds  of  Theistic  and  Christian  Belief,  chap.  in.  H.  C.  Sheldon, 
Unbelief  in  the  Nineteenth  Century,  pt.  i.  E.  Boutroux,  Science 
and  Religion  in  Contemporary  Philosophy,  pt.  n,  chap.  n.  W.  H. 
Mallock,  Religion  as  a  Credible  Doctrine,  chaps,  xi-xni.  E.  H. 
Rowland,  Right  to  Believe,  chap.  n.  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  Humanism, 
I,  xvni. 

Defenses:  W.  James,  Pluralistic  Universe,  Appendix  A.;  Some 
Problems  of  Philosophy,  chaps,  x-xi.  K.  Pearson,  Grammar  of 
Science,  chap,  i,  sees.  5-8.  J.  S.  Mill,  Examination  of  Sir  William 
Hamilton  s  Philosophy,  chaps,  i-vi.  R.  B.  Perry,  Present  Philo- 
sophical Tendencies,  pt.  n.  T.  P.  Nunn,  Aims  of  Scientific  Method. 
G.  Santayana,  Reason  in  Science.  R.  Poincare,  Science  and  Hy- 
pothesis. New  World,  vol.  5,  p.  318.  Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  3, 
p.  452.  Journal  of  Philosophy,  Psychology,  and  Scientific  Methods, 
vol.  1. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL 

When  we  are  well  and  light-hearted,  when  all  goes  pros- 
perously with  us,  when 

"The  year's  at  the  spring 
And  day's  at  the  morn," 

it  is  natural  for  us  to  feel  that 

"God's  in  his  heaven, 
All's  right  with  the  world." 

But  when  we  see  evil  in  some  of  its  acuter  forms  —  a  help- 
less child  writhing  in  the  grip  of  unbearable  pain,  a  youth 
of  promise  and  eager  ambition  thrust  by  some  accident  or 
ill-fortune  into  weakness  and  failure,  lovers  separated  by 
sudden  death  at  the  brink  of  their  happiness,  manhood 
lured  by  insidious  temptation  to  shipwreck  and  sorrow, 
womanhood  crushed  by  the  drudgery  of  life  into  a  sodden 
hopelessness  —  it  is  far  easier  to  believe  the  universe  indif- 
ferent to  our  human  fortunes.  There  are,  indeed,  people 
to-day,  in  our  advanced  state  of  cilivization  —  bought  by 
the  blood  and  toil  of  countless  generations  —  who  know 
little  of  the  pain  and  misery  of  the  world.  Well-fed,  warmly 
dressed,  snugly  housed,  they  find  nothing  to  disturb  their 
assurance  of  the  divine  ordering  of  things.  One  wonders 
whether  such  people  have  really  known  pain  —  stinging, 
relentless,  unendurable  physical  pain,  that  will  not  be 
stilled,  that  eats  the  very  heart  out  of  a  man  and  leaves  no 
thought  but  that  of  agony.  Have  they  felt  the  "grisly, 
blood-freezing,   heart-palsying   sensation"   of  fear?     Have 


THE   PROBLEM   OF  EVIL  367 

they  ever  lost  the  one  loved  one  that  made  life  dear,  or 
failed  in  the  one  endeavor  the  heart  was  set  upon,  and  lived 
on  and  on,  long,  blank,  bitterly  reminiscent  years?  Have 
they  eyes  for  the  dull,  patient  endurance,  the  discourage- 
ment, the  hopeless  misery  of  millions  of  earth's  poorer 
children  even  in  this  prosperous  age? 

Of  course  this  is  not  the  whole  story.  There  are  many 
good  things  in  this  world,  so  many  that,  with  normal  good 
fortune  and  reasonable  wisdom  in  living,  life  can  be  made 
well  worth  while.  To  most  men  life  even  brings  times  of 
very  deep  and  overflowing  happiness.  But  there  have  been 
millions  of  human  beings  who  have  not  had  such  normal 
good  fortune.  Did  not  God  care  for  them  too?  If  your  wife 
or  child  were  starving  to  death,  pinned  under  the  walls  of 
an  earthquake-shattered  house,  would  the  preponderance  of 
pleasure  over  pain  in  the  life  of  the  average  man  be  of  any 
comfort?  A  good  God  must  have  a  heart  for  the  sufferings 
of  each  one  of  his  creatures  throughout  the  ages. 

In  any  case  we  should  face  life  with  courage  and  with 
song.  We  should  forget,  as  long  as  we  can,  the  sick-rooms, 
the  smell  of  ether,  the  faces  of  pale  children  and  careworn 
women.  And  this  optimism  of  attitude  almost  irresistibly 
leads  to  an  optimistic  world-view.  To  greet  the  days  with 
good  cheer,  to  respond  to  the  wonder  and  beauty  of  the 
world  —  or  rather  in  the  world,  to  be  filled  with  awe  at  its 
grandeur,  rapture  at  its  loveliness,  and  thankfulness  at 
its  opportunities,  to  declare  life  well  worth  living  and  go  at 
it  with  shout  and  laughter,  is  to  live  it  in  the  fullest  and  best 
way.  And  naturally,  in  such  moods,  we  assent  to  the  expla- 
nation our  religion  has  offered  of  this  beauty  and  grandeur 
and  opportunity  —  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  firmament  showeth  his  handiwork!  The  inward  emo- 
tion begets  the  outward  belief;  an  optimistic  frame  of  mind 
objectifies  its  emotion  and  calls  the  world  good,  believes  it 


363  PHILOSOPHICAL 

arranged  and  planned  to  evoke  such  emotions.  Arguments 
fly  to  the  four  winds,  the  goodness  of  things  is  patent  and 
obvious.  More  than  that,  the  duty  to  be  cheerful  is  generally 
taken  to  be  a  duty  to  believe  the  optimistic  doctrine.  In 
current  opinion  disbelief  in  the  latter  is  invested  with  the 
meanness  and  ugliness  of  the  pessimistic  mood. 

But  though  we  should  be  loyal  to  our  world,  and  love  it 
all  we  can,  we  need  not  be  blind  to  its  grievous  faults. 
However  gaily  we  go  to  meet  life,  however  bravely  and 
buoyantly  we  take  it,  we  cannot  fail,  if  we  are  serious,  to 
know  that  it  is  shot  through  and  through  with  irredeem- 
able pathos  and  tragedy.  He  who  has  no  ideals  may  praise 
the  world  as  it  is;  but  for  him  who  has  conceived  what  life 
might  be  under  more  favorable  conditions,  the  misery  and 
sadness  of  which  it  so  largely  consists  are  not  to  be  glossed 
over  or  condoned.  Is  it  possible  to  square  this  recognition 
of  the  evil  in  the  world  with  the  belief  in  a  benevolent 
Creator  or  Ruler  thereof?  The  attempt  to  answer  this 
question  gives  us  the  ancient  and  still  unsolved  "problem 
of  evil." 

Can  evil  be  conceived  as  a  partial  view  of  the  good? 

The  most  radical  solution  offered  is  that  of  those  who 
say  that  evil  is  merely  "  appearance,"  or  "  illusion,"  or  — 
in  Mrs.  Eddy's  language  —  "error."  It  seems  evil  to  us 
merely  because  we  have  a  shortsighted  and  partial  view  of  it; 
could  we  see  through  God's  eyes  we  should  recognize  that 
what  we  have  taken  to  be  evil  is  really  a  necessary  part  of 
the  divine  harmony.  Just  as  a  discord  which,  if  taken  alone, 
is  displeasing,  may  add  to  the  total  excellence  of  a  sym- 
phony; just  as  the  catastrophes  and  the  ugly  characters 
may  contribute  to  the  interest  and  artistic  effect  of  a  novel 
or  drama;  so  all  that  we  call  pain  and  defect,  and  even  sin, 
may  play  its  essential  part  in  God's  complete  right.   In  one 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  369 

sense,  then,  it  will  still  be  evil;  but  in  another  and  deeper 
sense  it  is  good. 

(1)  But  such  speech,  though  comforting  to  those  who  are 
susceptible  to  the  spell  of  unanalyzed  ideas,  amounts  to 
nothing  when  examined.  It  is  a  merely  verbal  solution  of 
the  problem.  Pain  and  suffering  are  real  things,  not  to  be 
made  by  words  into  anything  else.  If  suffering  is  felt,  it  is 
suffering;  for  that  is  what  suffering  consists  of,  the  feeling 
of  it.  To  call  it  good  is  to  call  black  white.  Whatever  it 
might  be  to  God,  it  is  suffering  to  us.  And  what  help  is  it 
to  the  man  who  is  in  an  agony  of  pain  or  sorrow  to  know 
that  to  God  it  is  not  evil?  The  fallacy  in  this  easy  solution 
lies  in  the  word  "seem";  for  this  is  a  case  where  "seeming" 
equals  "being."  The  locus  of  suffering  is  consciousness;  and 
if  in  our  consciousness  we  find  suffering,  then  it  is  unde- 
niably there.  To  call  it  "illusion"  or  "appearance"  is  to 
give  it  a  euphemistic  name;  but  just  as  a  rose  by  any  name 
would  smell  as  sweet,  so  pain  by  any  name  would  feel  as 
bad.  Moreover,  if  what  is  good  to  God  feels  bad  to  us,  that 
"  appearance  "  or  "  illusion  "  is  in  itself  an  evil,  and  is  as  much 
in  need  of  explanation  and  justification  as  it  was  before  we 
so  labelled  it. 

(2)  The  supposition  springs,  perhaps,  from  certain  prac- 
tical experiences.  It  is  possible  to  learn  to  "transcend"  evil, 
to  take  happily  what  once  provoked  our  rebelliousness,  and 
thus  not  only  to  cut  out  the  worrying  and  fretting  and  re- 
pining, the  fear  and  regret  and  despair,  that  form  so  large 
a  part  of  our  human  misery,  but  to  confront  present  failure 
and  loss  and  actually  physical  pain  itself  without  unhappi- 
ness.  It  is  possible,  that  is,  if  men  are  taught  how  to  do  it, 
if  a  great  emotion  pushes  them  into  it,  if  they  have  the 
strength  of  heart  to  carry  it  through.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
observation,  few  men  have  realized  that  it  can  be  done;  few 
will  ever,  probably,  have  the  perseverance  and  single-mind- 


370  PHILOSOPHICAL 

edness  to  do  it.  Poor,  ignorant,  helpless  men  and  women, 
and  still  more  children  and  animals,  cannot  find  this  dif- 
ficult way,  which  means  so  sharp  a  transformation  of  human 
nature.  And  even  could  all  sentient  creatures  attain  to  the 
inward  poise  and  peace  of  the  most  successful  of  the  Stoics 
or  Christian  Scientists,  their  lives  would  not  be  so  rich  and 
full  and  beautiful  as  they  might  have  been  if  the  instincts 
and  desires  that  have  been  crushed  and  forgotten  could  have 
been  fulfilled. 

(3)  We  do  not  actually  believe  that  the  evil  in  the  world 
is  really  good,  for  we  fight  hard  to  abate  it.  What  mockery  is 
all  our  struggle,  our  sacrifice,  our  effort,  if  the  evils  we  are 
overcoming  thereby  are  essential  aspects  of  the  universal 
harmony.  No,  "levity  and  mysticism  may  do  all  they  can 
—  and  they  can  do  much  —  to  make  men  think  moral  dis- 
tinctions unauthoritative,  because  moral  distinctions  may 
be  either  ignored  or  transcended.  Yet  the  essential  asser- 
tion that  one  thing  is  really  better  than  another  remains 
involved  in  every  act  of  every  living  being.  It  is  accordingly 
a  moral  truth  which  no  subterfuge  can  elude,  that  some 
things  are  really  better  than  others.  In  the  daily  course  of 
affairs  we  are  constantly  in  the  presence  of  events  which  by 
turning  out  one  way  or  the  other  produce  a  real,  an  irrev- 
ocable, increase  of  good  or  evil  in  the  world."  1 

Variant  forms  of  this  doctrine,  that  evil  is  a  necessary  part 
of  good,  are  to  be  found  in  the  assertions  that  good  always 
comes  out  of  evil,  or  that  it  can  exist  only  by  contrast  with 
evil.  To  the  first  statement  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  it  is 
not  borne  out  by  observation;  good  sometimes  can  be  seen 
to  come  out  of  evil,  but  just  as  often  evil  can  be  seen  to  come 
out  of  good;  and  more  often  good  produces  further  good  and 
evil  further  evil.  Illness  and  poverty  sometimes  produce 
strength  and  resourcefulness  and  invention;  but  oftener 
1  G.  Santayana,  Poetry  and  Religion,  p.  100. 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  371 

they  produce  demoralization  and  ignorance  and  a  host  of 
other  ills.  Good  and  evil  are  so  interwoven  in  life  that  what 
seemed  hopelessly  bad  often  proves  to  have  its  good  side 
or  consequences.  But  there  remain  multitudes  of  other 
cases  where  the  opposite  is  the  fact.  And  in  any  case,  the 
good  that  "comes  out  of"  evil  is  a  justification  of  that  evil 
only  if  it  could  have  been  attained  in  no  other  way.  If 
human  life  is  so  planned  that  evils  are  a  necessary  precon- 
dition of  some  goods,  here  is  a  pretty  problem  of  evil  left 
unsolved. 

The  assertion  that  evil  is  necessary  that  good  may  exist, 
by  contrast  with  it,  is  likewise  contrary  to  observable  facts. 
One  kind  of  happy  experience  may  contrast  with  another 
equally  happy  experience.  Certain  periods  in  the  lives  of 
the  more  fortunate  of  us  bear  witness  to  the  possibility  of  a 
rich  and  vivid  experience  without  a  trace  of  pain.  And  the 
purest  forms  of  happiness  are  those  in  which  there  is  no  hint 
of  sorrow,  glimpses  of  that  ideal  world  which  we  construct 
in  our  imaginations,  picture  in  art,  and  look  forward  to  in 
some  future  heaven.  But  certainly,  if  our  human  nature 
were  so  formed  that  we  could  not  be  happy  without  a  dose 
of  pain,  that  sad  fact  would  raise  a  problem  of  evil  all  its 
own.  And  it  would  effectually  chill  our  faith  in  a  better 
future  by  showing  us  the  hopelessness  of  ever  escaping  from 
that  odious  law  by  which  joy  must  always  have  its  comple- 
ment of  sorrow. 

Is  evil  necessary  for  character-building? 

A  much  more  plausible  contention  is  that  the  evils  in 
the  world  are  necessary  as  obstacles  and  goads  to  prick  us 
into  energy,  to  cultivate  in  us  patience,  to  transform  us 
from  creatures  of  impulse  into  men  and  women  of  fortitude 
and  self-control.  As  a  loving  father  may  punish  his  child, 
or  set  him  at  an  uncongenial  task,  so  may  God  deal  with 


372  PHILOSOPHICAL 

us.  We  see  many  a  man  who  has  been  tempered  by  pain,  made 
wiser,  stronger,  better.  Suffering  is  part  of  our  education. 
It  makes  character;  and  character  is  worth  much  suffering. 

(1)  But  this  solution  egregiously  fails  to  cover  a  large 
part  of  the  evil  in  life.  There  is  the  evil  that  kills.  When  a 
man  starves  to  death,  or  is  eaten  by  a  tiger,  or  dies  of  a 
rattlesnake  bite,  is  he  being  educated?  When  a  shipload  of 
children  burn  to  death,  as  happened  recently  in  New  York 
harbor,  is  their  character  being  formed?  There  is  suffering 
of  babies  and  of  animals;  they  can  hardly  be  thought  to 
be  learning  moral  lessons  therefrom.  There  are  the  great 
catastrophes  like  the  Messina  earthquake  and  the  Mont 
Pelee  eruption;  not  only  do  they  teach  no  salutary  lessons 
to  the  thousands  they  kill,  but  they  can  hardly  be  supposed, 
except  by  a  stretch  of  faith,  to  produce  in  the  survivors  a 
lift  of  character  comparable  to  the  suffering  they  cause.  Pain 
is  not  tempered  to  human  strength;  if  it  sometimes  has  the 
power  to  inspire,  it  more  often  has  power  to  depress.  Sor- 
row that  breaks  men's  hearts  is  worse  than  useless  for  dis- 
cipline. And  take  the  dull  monotony  of  many  lives,  the 
withholding  of  opportunity,  the  bitter  lacks  that  keep  the 
mass  of  humanity  ignorant  and  cramped  and  without  hope. 
There  is  suffering  that  coarsens,  that  stupefies,  that  de- 
grades; there  is  pain  that  breaks  down  a  man's  courage, 
crushes  his  will,  drives  him  insane.  The  most  ardent  en- 
thusiasms, the  highest  purposes,  are  checkmated,  the  purest 
and  potentially  greatest  souls  are  tortured,  limited,  flung 
back  from  their  aspirations.  Any  sensible  person  who  had 
the  control  of  nature,  if  he  wished  to  use  pain  as  a  spur  to 
character-building,  could  distribute  and  adjust  it  far  more 
wisely  and  effectively. 

(2)  Again,  is  pain  really  necessary  for  the  production  of 
character?  Do  we  grow  in  maturity  and  in  virtue  in  pro- 
portion to  the  suffering  we  have  to  meet?  On  the  contrary, 


THE   PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  373 

it  may  be  plausibly  maintained  that  we  develop  fastest 
when  we  find  ourselves  in  the  environment  which  is  best 
suited  to  our  needs,  when  we  are  happy  and  useful  in  it  and 
free  to  exercise  our  faculties.  Healthy  children  learn  through 
happy  play  and  happy  study,  through  imitation  of  wise  and 
loving  elders,  through  contact  with  noble  examples,  through 
the  persuasiveness  of  beautiful  ideals.  When  a  mother  loses 
her  child,  she  may  attain  through  her  patient  suffering  a 
saintly  resignation  that  she  would  have  acquired  in  no  other 
way;  but  that  gain  is  at  the  expense  of  other  lessons  that 
normal  motherhood  would  have  taught  her.  The  withholding 
of  opportunity  may  produce  patience;  the  use  of  opportunity 
is  the  only  way  of  reaching  to  a  fully  developed  manhood 
or  womanhood.  Were  there  no  pain  in  life,  there  would  still 
be  scope  for  action  and  energy  in  seeking  positive  goods, 
both  for  self  and  for  others.  There  could  still  be  altruism, 
sacrifice,  renunciation,  love,  and  self-control;  and  if  there 
could  no  longer  be  (in  the  etymological  sense  of  the  term) 
sympathy,  there  could  be  more  of  that  happier  and  equally 
noble  virtue  which  the  Germans  call  Mitfreude.  For  why 
is  it  not  as  beautiful  to  rejoice  with  others  in  their  joys  as 
to  suffer  with  them  in  their  sorrows? 

(3)  Are  the  virtues  produced  by  pain  of  any  value  except 
to  enable  us  better  to  bear  further  pain?  What  do  we  mean 
by  "character"  but  the  ability  to  react  rightly  to  the  con- 
ditions amid  which  we  live,  the  proper  adaptation  of  our 
impulses  to  our  needs  and  situation?  But  were  the  world 
a  pain-free  one  we  should  have  no  need  of  these  particular 
virtues,  so  laboriously  and  painfully  won.  As  it  is,  we  rightly 
prize  them,  but  only  because  we  live  in  a  world  that  makes 
them  necessary.  In  an  ideal  world  they  would  be  out  of 
place  and  loathsome.  If  there  were  no  pain  there  would  be 
no  need  of  courage,  longsuffering,  endurance,  resignation; 
these  virtues  have  the  taint  of  earth  upon  them,  the  shadow 


374  PHILOSOPHICAL 

of  the  primal  curse.  In  a  happier  world  we  might  be  like 
light-hearted,  care-free  children,  free  to  follow  our  impulses 
without  sin  or  regret.  And  who  can  say  that  such  a  spon- 
taneously happy  life,  filled  with  love  of  our  fellows,  contact 
with  beauty,  and  innocent  enjoyments,  is  not  ideally  as 
desirable  as  a  life  of  saintly  patience,  heroic  endurance  of 
pain,  and  grim  self-mastery? 

(4)  Granted  that  this  sterner  side  of  character  is  intrin- 
sically desirable,  why  did  not  God  create  us  with  such  a 
character  to  start  with?    Why  should  we  have  to  remould 
ourselves,  deny  many  of  the  sweetest  impulses  with  which  we 
were  endowed,  and  cultivate  new  impulses?    There  may  be 
some  satisfaction  in  being  in  so  far  self-made,  but  who  would 
not  exchange  that  rather  vainglorious  pleasure  for  the  sake 
of  a  strong  character  from  the  beginning  —  not  to  speak  of 
escaping  all  the  pain  and  agony  of  the  process.  If  God  could 
create  all  this  complex  and  intricate  world,  create  us  with 
all  our  impulses  and  delicate  adjustments,  why  could  he  not 
have  adjusted  our  impulses  a  little  more  exactly,  weakened 
our  selfish  passions,  strengthened  our  love  of  purity,  of 
honesty,  of  service,  and  thus  saved  us  our  stumbling  and 
our  sin!  The  loving  human  father,  if  he  had  the  power  to 
give  his  son  better  impulses,  would  be  glad  to  spare  the  rod;  if 
he  could  instantaneously  give  him  wisdom  and  character 
without  the  dull  routine  of  grammar  and  lexicon,  without 
the  mistakes  and  the  pain,  he  would  rejoice  to  do  so.  The 
father  punishes  his  child  only  because  of  his  powerlessness  to 
endow  him  directly  with  virtue;  it  is  an  unhappy  last  resort. 
But  is  God  equally  limited  in  his  power?  Again  we  find  our 
problem  of  evil  confronting  us,  in  a  but  slightly  altered  form. 

Is  evil  necessary  at  a  stage  in  the  evolution  of  humanity? 

If  evil  cannot  be  justified  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 

individual  life,  can  it  be  said  to  be  a  necessary  accom- 


THE   PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  375 

paniment  of  the  ascent  of  mankind  from  brutehood,  to  be 
finally  forgiven  when  it  disappears  in  the  millenium  to  come? 
Certainly  man  is  conquering,  one  by  one,  many  of  the  evils 
that  have  plagued  him;  the  individual,  thanks  to  science, 
has  now  to  suffer  far  less,  on  the  average,  than  his  ancestors, 
and  another  dozen  centuries  may  find  man  freed  from  many 
other  of  the  evils  that  have  cursed  his  existence.  This  prog- 
ress of  the  race  is  a  legitimate  source  of  pride  and  pleasure, 
and  the  proper  goal  of  our  effort;  can  it  also  serve  as  the 
basis  for  a  satisfactory  theodicy? 

(1)  We  see  at  once  that  an  omnipotent  ruler  of  the  uni- 
verse could  not  be  thus  exonerated.  For  we  must  not  make 
a  fetish  of  the  concept  of  "progress."  The  value  of  progress 
consists  only  in  the  goal  attained;  and  if  God  is  omnipotent, 
why  should  he  bring  men  to  that  goal  by  a  road  that  involves 
the  suffering  of  the  first  few  hundreds  of  billions  of  his  hu- 
man creatures?  Why  should  he  not  have  given  them  the 
fruits  that  only  the  later-born  are  to  enjoy?  Or  at  least 
have  made  them  more  intelligent,  resourceful,  able  to  pro- 
gress faster?  Think  of  the  kind  of  life  that  most  men  have 
been  vouchsafed!  The  vast  majority  of  them,  counting 
from  the  beginning,  have  grown  up  amid  savage  and  harsh 
conditions,  without  comforts,  without  arts,  with  hardly  a 
glimmer  of  reason  or  beauty  or  religion.  Naked,  half -brutish 
creatures,  fighting  one  another,  feasting  gluttonously  or 
starving,  as  chance  offered,  knowing  no  better,  stupidly 
satisfied  or  dumbly  miserable  —  what  beings  for  an  omni- 
potent God  to  create!  No,  the  less  desirable  stages  of  evolu- 
tion can  only  be  excused  if  they  were  the  only  feasible  way 
of  attaining  the  higher  stages;  and  to  say  that  they  were 
the  only  way,  that  God  could  not  have  endowed  human 
nature  at  its  first  creation  with  the  wisdom  and  skill  and 
virtue  and  physical  faculties  necessary  for  a  happy  life,  is 
very  seriously  to  limit  his  omnipotence. 


376  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(2)  Even  were  we  to  grant  that  the  method  of  evolution 
is,  for  some  reason,  intrinsically  desirable,  is  it  fair  to  those 
who  have  been  sacrificed  on  the  way?  Would  the  lucky 
generations  of  earth's  hypothetically  blissful  future  wish  to 
buy  their  happiness,  however  exquisite,  at  the  price  of  all 
the  pain  that  their  long  line  of  ancestors  will  have  endured? 
However  great  the  ultimate  balance  of  joy  over  sorrow  may 
be,  for  humanity  as  a  whole,  would  that  overplus  of  happi- 
ness justify  the  suffering  of  those,  even  if  they  were  but 
a  few  instead  of  millions,  to  whom  life  brought  agony  and 
fear  and  despair? 

(3)  Again,  if  an  evolution,  an  unfolding  of  potentialities, 
a  ripening  of  powers,  is  desirable  in  itself,  there  might  con- 
ceivably have  been  such  a  development  that  should  have 
been  beautiful  and  happy  in  all  its  stages,  like  the  growth  of 
a  rose  from  the  bud,  or  the  life  of  an  exceptionally  fortunate 
man  from  healthy  childhood  through  ardent  youth  to  ma- 
ture age.  Each  stage  might  have  had  its  peculiar  sweetness, 
and  all  might  have  been  free  from  pain.  If  animals  had  not 
been  made  carnivorous,  if  disease-germs  and  insect  pests  and 
poisonous  reptiles  had  been  eliminated,  if  sentient  creatures 
had  been  made  without  pain-nerves,  and  withal  had  been 
made  less  fertile,  so  as  to  prevent  overcrowding,  the  earlier 
stages  of  evolution  might  have  been,  although  devoid  of 
much  that  makes  a  developed  civilization  rich  and  joyous, 
yet  in  their  own  way  interesting  and  pleasant,  instead  of  full 
of  tragedy  and  pain. 

(4)  Finally,  unless  human  nature  and  its  earthly  environ- 
ment can  be  made  over  far  more  radically  than  we  can  easily 
conceive  possible,  life  on  earth  must  always  have  its  share 
of  tragedy  and  pathos  and  suffering.  Accidents  will  happen, 
earthquakes  and  thunderbolts  and  volcanic  eruptions  will 
continue  to  destroy  and  maim,  fire  will  burn,  falls  will  bruise: 
and  even  if  man  succeeds  in  taming  his  chaotic  instincts  and 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  377 

impulses  and  in  preventing  physical  death,  there  will  remain 
inevitable  forms  of  suffering  and  loss  which  would  form  a 
residue  of  evil  still  to  be  accounted  for. 

Is  evil  the  result  of  man's  perverse  use  of  his  free  will? 

But  perhaps  evil  is  due  not  to  the  Creator,  but  to  the 
creatures  themselves.  Given  free  choice,  they  have  per- 
versely taken  the  wrong  path,  and  plunged  themselves  into 
all  their  troubles.  No  doubt  the  Creator  foresaw  their  per- 
versity, but  deemed  it  better  to  give  them  their  freedom, 
at  their  own  risk,  than  to  endow  them  with  impulses  that 
would  inevitably  lead  them  in  the  ways  of  safety.  There  are 
those  who  assert  that  we  should  not  wish  a  world  in  which 
we  had  no  option  to  choose  evil;  the  dignity  that  thus  ac- 
crues to  human  nature  is  worth  the  cost.  And  if  men  have 
brought  sorrow  upon  their  own  heads,  they  alone  are  to 
blame. 

(1)  But  is  this  dubious  gift  of  "free  will"  worth  the  pain 

that  is  thus  charged  to  its  account?  Surely  no  humane  man, 

witnessing  the  suffering  of  those  he  loves,   would  wish  to 

keep  his  freedom  to  choose  evil  at  such  a  price.   Would  we 

not  really  prefer,  or  should  we  not  rationally  prefer,  to  be 

so  made  that  we  could  not  help  doing  right,  if  we  might 

thereby  save  all  the  suffering  and  degradation  and  sin  in  the 

world,  satisfy  all  those  longings  which,  as  it  is,  are  so  largely 

destined  not  to  be  fulfilled,  develop  those  capacities  which 

have  never  been  unfolded,  attain  to  some  measure  of  that 

wonderful  happiness  which  we  glimpse  now  only  in  a  few 

rare  and  fleeting  moments?  1 

1  Cf.  Ruskin,  Athena,  p.  114:  "You  will  send  your  child,  will  you,  into 
a  room  where  the  table  is  loaded  with  sweet  wine  and  fruit  —  some  poi- 
soned, some  not?  —  you  will  say  to  him,  'Choose  freely,  my  little  child! 
It  is  so  good  for  you  to  have  freedom  of  choice:  it  forms  your  character, 
your  individuality!  If  you  take  the  wrong  cup,  or  the  wrong  berry,  you 
will  die  before  the  day  is  over,  but  you  will  have  acquired  the  dignity  of 
a  Free  child!'" 


378  PHILOSOPHICAL 

(2)  But  granting  "free  will"  to  be  a  great  desideratum, 
why  need  there  have  been  any  evils  to  choose?  Why  not 
simply  a  great  variety  of  unequally  desirable  goods,  amid 
which  we  could  exercise  our  choice  to  any  desired  degree? 
Why  need  the  results  of  wrong  choices  have  been  made  so 
terrible?  Or  if  the  presence  of  potential  pain  adds  a  tang 
which  is  worth  the  danger,  why  should  men  not  have  been 
endowed  with  a  stronger  love  of  the  good,  a  more  insistent 
altruistic  instinct,  and  less  imperious  impulses  that  lead  to 
ruin?  A  world  of  free  agents  can  be  conceived  in  which  all 
the  dignity  and  satisfaction  inhering  in  the  making  of  choices 
could  coexist  with  a  freedom  from  suffering,  a  wrong  choice 
involving  at  worst  the  loss  of  a  possible  joy. 

(3)  Whatever  our  belief  may  be  with  reference  to  the 
deterministic-indeterministic  controversy,  at  least  our  con- 
duct is  to  a  very  large  degree  determined  by  heredity  and 
environment.  We  choose  what  we  do  because  we  have 
inherited  certain  instincts  and  been  under  the  influence  of 
certain  educative  and  suggestive  forces.  Is  it  fair  to  give 
us  such  instincts  and  impulses,  and  then  to  punish  us  for 
following  them?  Not  to  attempt  to  answer  the  now  discarded 
theory  that  we  are  involved  in  the  punishment  of  Adam's 
primal  sin,  and  supposing  that  our  suffering  is  the  result  of 
our  own  misdeeds,  those  misdeeds  are  the  direct  result  of 
the  animal  inheritance  which  persists  in  us,  which  we  did 
not  choose  and  cannot  escape.  If  God  created  us  with  such 
instincts  and  desires,  he  is  ultimately  responsible  for  the 
acts  into  which  they  lead  us. 

(4)  But  after  all,  it  is  quite  plain  that  only  a  small  pro- 
portion of  the  suffering  in  the  world  can  be  laid  to  the  door 
of  "free  will."  It  is  not  merely  the  wicked  that  suffer,  or  the 
foolish  and  imprudent.  Much  of  our  pain  is  thrust  upon 
us  independently  of  our  volitions.  The  diseases  that  torture 
us,  the  wild  animals  that  eat  us,  the  lightning  and  flood  and 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  379 

drought,  the  drudgery  we  have  to  undergo  to  live  at  all, 
death  that  takes  our  loved  ones  from  us  and  stares  us  all  in 
the  face  —  these  evils  and  many  others  could  not  have  been 
removed  by  the  most  conscientious  exercise  of  free  will.  All 
this  evil,  and  the  suffering  of  the  animal  world,  which  must 
total  an  enormous  amount,  must  be  excused  in  some  other 
way. 

Is  evil  to  be  attributed  to  God  at  all? 

If  God  is  omnipotent,  he  is  ultimately  responsible  for 
everything  that  happens.  Since  evils  exist,  it  must  be 
because  he  is  willing  that  they  should.  Unless  the  existence 
of  evil  is  not  an  evil  —  and  that  involves  a  contradiction  in 
terms  —  he  is  content  that  the  world  should  be  less  good 
than  it  might  be.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  he  prefers  to 
tolerate  these  evils  rather  than  involve  the  world  in  greater 
evil  or  deprive  it  of  its  present  joys;  for  if  he  is  omnipotent 
he  can  obviate  those  other  evils  and  secure  the  joys  without 
permitting  these  evils.  But  a  God  content  to  have  a  world 
with  evil  in  it  when  he  could  make  it  free  from  evil  would 
be  a  malevolent  Being,  unworthy  of  our  worship,  and  not 
properly  to  be  called  by  the  sacred  name  "God."  Hence, 
though  we  cannot  disprove  the  existence  of  such  a  cruel 
omnipotent  Being,  it  is  a  far  more  satisfying  conception  to 
believe  in  a  God  who  is  all-good,  but  unable,  for  one  reason 
or  another,  to  remove  the  evil  in  the  world,  or  to  remove  it 
without  bringing  on  greater  evils;  a  God  who  could  perhaps 
achieve  any  one  good  he  pleased,  but  cannot  attain  an  ideal 
combination  of  goods.  Such  a  Being  may  still  be  so  im- 
mensely superior  in  power  to  any  other  living  being  as  to 
deserve  a  term  approaching  "omnipotence,"  especially  if 
his  power  be  great  enough  ultimately  to  overcome  evil  and 
bring  in  the  millennium.  And  perhaps  this  faith  in  God's 
final  victory  is  all  that  is  really  to  be  understood  by  the  term. 


380  PHILOSOPHICAL 

But  omnipotent  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word  God  cannot 
be  without  forfeiting  his  right  to  the  epithet  "  good."  For 
either  he  could  not  make  a  better  world  or  he  did  not  wish  to. 
The  former  is  the  pleasanter  alternative. 

By  thus  giving  up,  in  the  literal  sense,  God's  "omnipo- 
tence," we  not  only  save  his  goodness,  but  we  fall  more 
into  line  with  the  actual  belief  of  the  great  majority  of 
Christians.  Cling  as  they  may  to  the  comforting  thought  of 
his  all-powerfulness,  they  have  almost  universally  refused 
to  attribute  to  him  the  bad  in  the  world.  Jesus,  like  the 
prophets  before  him,  offered  no  solution  of  the  problem  of 
evil.  But  he  evidently  believed  in  a  personal  Devil,  opposed 
to  God;  and  popular  Christianity  has  usually  been  more 
or  less  vaguely  dualistic,  regarding  God  not  as  the  Prin- 
ciple of  all  nature,  but  as  the  Principle  of  the  Good.  If  evil 
is  not  conceived  to  spring  from  the  machinations  of  an  Evil 
Spirit,  it  may  be  thought  to  be  due  to  the  obduracy  of  the 
material  with  which  God  has  to  work.  Or,  as  in  the  Platonic- 
Aristotelian  conception,  God  may  be,  not  the  Author  of 
the  universe,  but  its  Saviour,  not  creating  it,  but  drawing 
it  toward  his  perfectness.  The  universe  is  certainly,  in  some 
sense,  alive;  it  is  acting  and  developing  according  to  its  own 
inner  nature.  God  may  be,  instead  of  its  begetter,  a  Great 
Power  interpenetrating  it,  working  in  and  through  it,  and 
bending  its  independent  life  toward  we  know  not  what 
glorious  final  consummation. 

Some  such  conception  has  been  the  stay  of  many  of  the 
noblest  souls.  "The  only  admissible  moral  theory  of  Crea- 
tion is  that  the  Principle  of  Good  cannot  at  once  and  alto- 
gether subdue  the  powers  of  evil,  either  physical  or  moral. 
...  Of  all  the  religious  explanations  of  the  order  of  nature, 
this  alone  is  neither  contradictory  to  itself  or  to  the  facts 
for  which  it  attempts  to  account.  According  to  it,  man's 
duty  would  consist  not  in  simply  taking  care  of  his  own  in- 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EVIL  381 

terests  by  obeying  irresistible  power,  but  in  standing  forward 
a  not  ineffectual  auxiliary  to  a  Being  of  perfect  beneficence; 
a  faith  which  seems  much  better  adapted  for  nerving  him  to 
exertion  than  a  vague  and  inconsistent  reliance  on  an  Au- 
thor of  Good  who  is  supposed  to  be  also  the  author  of  evil. 
And  I  venture  to  assert  that  such  has  really  been,  though 
often  unconsciously,  the  faith  of  all  who  have  drawn  strength 
and  support  of  any  worthy  kind  from  trust  in  a  superintend- 
ing Providence.  There  is  no  subject  on  which  men's  prac- 
tical belief  is  more  incorrectly  indicated  by  the  words  they 
use  to  express  it,  than  religion.  .  .  .  Those  who  have  been 
strengthened  in  goodness  by  relying  on  the  sympathizing 
support  of  a  powerful  and  good  Governor  of  the  world, 
have,  I  am  satisfied,  never  really  believed  that  Governor 
to  be,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term,  omnipotent.  They  have 
always  saved  his  goodness  at  the  expense  of  his  power.  They 
have  believed,  perhaps,  that  he  could,  if  he  willed,  remove 
all  the  thorns  from  their  individual  path,  but  not  without 
causing  greater  harm  to  some  one  else,  or  frustrating  some 
purpose  of  greater  importance  to  the  general  well-being."  l 

1  J.  S.  Mill,  Nature  (in  Three  Essays  on  Religion).  Cf.  James,  Varieties 
of  Religious  Experience,  pp.  132-33:  "The  gospel  of  healthy-mindedness 
casts  its  vote  distinctly  for  this  pluralistic  view.  Whereas  the  monistic 
philosopher  finds  himself  more  or  less  bound  to  say,  as  Hegel  said,  that 
everything  actual  is  rational,  and  that  evil,  as  an  element  dialectically 
required,  must  be  pinned  in  and  kept  and  consecrated  and  have  a  func- 
tion awarded  to  it  in  the  final  system  of  truth,  healthy-mindedness  refuses 
to  say  anything  of  the  sort.  Evil,  it  says,  is  emphatically  irrational,  and 
not  to  be  pinned  in,  or  preserved,  or  consecrated  in  any  final  system  of  truth. 
It  is  a  pure  abomination  to  the  Lord,  an  alien  unreality,  a  waste  element, 
to  be  sloughed  off  and  negated,  and  the  very  memory  of  it,  if  possible, 
wiped  out  and  forgotten." 

And  cf.  Samuel  McChord  Crothers  (Among  Friends,  p.  235):  "The  con- 
clusion of  pseudo-optimism  that  'whatever  is  is  right,'  is  a  dreary  con- 
clusion and  a  travesty  on  Faith.  It  is  a  way  of  saying  that  all  the  ills 
from  which  men  suffer  are  irremediable,  and  that  we  might  as  well  pretend 
that  we  like  them.  The  contention  of  Ethics  is  that  much  that  is  is  wrong, 
and  that  it  is  our  privilege  to  make  it  right,  and  the  sooner  we  go  about 
our  work  the  better." 


382  PHILOSOPHICAL 

At  any  rate,  if  we  accept  this  view,  we  are  absolved  from 
the  baffling  task  of  justifying  the  existence  of  evil  and  apolo- 
gizing for  the  world  as  it  is.  We  are  not  to  condone  it,  we 
are  to  hate  it,  as  God  hates  it,  and  fight  it,  as  God  is  fighting 
it.  We  are  called  to  be  co-workers  with  God,  who  needs  our 
help.  There  will  then  be  no  more  a  problem  of  evil  than  there 
is  a  problem  of  good.  Or  rather,  the  only  problem  of  evil 
will  be  the  problem  of  how  quickest  to  get  rid  of  it,  how  so 
to  work  that  future  generations  will  have  less  of  it  to  bear; 
and  meanwhile,  how  to  bear  it  ourselves  with  serenity  and 
inward  peace. 

J.  S.  Mill,  "Nature,"  in  Three  Essays  on  Religion;  Examination 
of  Sir  William  Hamilton's  Philosophy,  chap.  vn.  G.  Galloway, 
Philosophy  of  Religion,  chap.  xiv.  B.  P.  Bowne,  Theism,  pp. 
262-86.  G.  Santayana,  Reason  in  Religion,  chap.  ix.  A.  M.  Fair- 
bairn,  Philosophy  of  the  Christian  Religion,  bk.  I,  chaps,  iii-iv. 
Anon.,  Evil  and  Evolution  (Macmillan.  1899).  F.  Paulsen,  System 
of  Ethics,  bk.  H,  chaps,  in,  iv,  vin.  G.  A.  Gordon,  Immortality 
and  the  New  Theodicy.  E.  H.  Rowland,  Right  to  Believe,  chap.  v. 
C.  Gore,  ed.  Lux  Mundi,  chap.  in.  F.  C.  Wilm,  Problem  of  Religion, 
chap.  vi.  J.  M.  E.  McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Religion,  sees. 
171-215.  G.  T.  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  vol.  2,  chap.  xxxn. 
T.  Caird,  Fundamental  Ideas  of  Christianity,  lects.  viii-xi.  A.  K. 
Rogers,  Religious  Conception  of  the  World,  pp.  231-60.  W.  N. 
Clarke,  Christian  Doctrine  of  God,  pp.  431-62.  J.  Wedgwood,  The 
Moral  Ideal,  chap.  vm.  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  7,  p.  378. 
Hibbert  Journal,  vol.  1,  p.  425;  vol.  2,  p.  767. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IMMORTALITY 

The  evolution  of  the  belief  in  a  future  life 

So  accustomed  have  we  of  Christian  nurture  become  to 
faith  in  a  future  life,  happier  than  the  present,  that  we  are 
apt  to  forget  how  few  out  of  the  billions  that  have  lived  on 
earth  have  shared  that  anticipation.  Yet  it  is  a  recent  one  in 
man's  history.  Primitive  man,  to  be  sure,  in  his  inability  to 
realize  the  fact  of  death,  commonly  thought  of  his  friends 
and  foes  as  continuing  to  exist  in  some  vague  and  shadowy 
fashion.  Such  a  ghostly  future  existence  has  been  believed 
in  by  most  peoples.  But  it  has  been  rather  dreaded  than 
longed  for;  it  has  been  seldom  thought  of  as  a  condition 
of  bliss,  as  a  reward  or  consolation,  but  usually  as  an  una- 
voidable and  dubious  fate.  Homer,  for  example,  in  a  well- 
known  passage,1  makes  one  of  his  heroes  declare  that  the 
humblest  earthly  life  is  to  be  preferred  to  the  best  estate  in 
the  underworld.  Many  of  the  more  cultivated  of  the  an- 
cients, however,  rejected  the  idea  altogether,  as  a  mere  su- 
perstition, and  looked  forward  calmly  to  their  individual 
extinction.  The  hopefulness  of  Socrates  in  the  matter  stands 
out  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  unbelief  of  his  friends,  and  evi- 
dently occasions  them  surprise.  "'Are  you  not  aware,'" 
Plato  makes  him  say  to  Glaucon,  " '  that  the  soul  is  immortal 
and  imperishable?'  He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment,  and 
said: ' No,  indeed;  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  able 
to  prove  that.'"  2 

1  Odyssey,  bk.  xi,  489-91. 

2  Republic,  608.   Cf.  ibid.,  330:  "Let  me  tell  you,  Socrates,  that  when  a 


384  PHILOSOPHICAL 

x\mong  the  Jews  matters  stood  about  the  same,  a  general 
naive  belief  in  a  pale  and  rather  undesirable  future  existence 
in  an  underworld  yielding  among  the  more  reflective  to  a 
skeptical  attitude.  King  Hezekiah  said,  when  facing  death: 
"  I  shall  go  to  the  gates  of  the  grave,  I  shall  not  see  Jehovah 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  .  .  .  The  grave  cannot  praise  thee: 
they  that  down  go  into  the  pit  cannot  hope  for  thy  truth. 
The  living,  the  living  man  alone  shall  praise  thee,  as  I  do 
this  day."  1 

In  similar  vein  the  psalmist  wrote:  "I  am  counted  with 
them  that  go  down  into  the  pit;  I  am  as  a  man  that  hath 
no  strength,  free  among  the  dead,  like  the  slain  that  lie 
in  the  grave,  whom  thou  rememberest  no  more;  they  are 
cut  off  from  thy  hand  .  .  .  Wilt  thou  show  wonders  to  the 
dead?  Can  the  dead  arise  and  praise  thee?  Shall  thy  loving 
kindness  be  declared  in  the  grave,  or  thy  faithfulness  in 
destruction?  Shall  thy  wonders  be  known  in  the  dark,  and 
thy  righteousness  in  the  land  of  forgetfulness?  "  2  And  again: 
"  In  death  there  is  no  remembrance  of  thee;  in  the  grave  who 
shall  give  thee  thanks?  "  3 

The  author  of  the  Book  of  Job,  in  his  vain  endeavor  to 
find  a  solution  for  the  problem  of  evil,  does  not  attempt  to 
justify  evil  through  its  relation  to  a  future  and  happier  life. 
"There  is  hope  of  a  tree,  if  it  be  cut  down,  that  it  will  sprout 
again.  But  a  man  dieth,  and  wasteth  away;  yea,  a  man 
giveth  up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he?  As  the  waters  fail  from 
the  sea,  and  the  flood  decayeth  and  drieth  up,  so  man  lieth 

man  thinks  himself  to  be  near  death  he  has  fears  and  cares  which  never 
entered  into  his  mind  before;  the  tales  of  a  life  below  and  the  punishment 
which  is  exacted  there  of  deeds  done  here  were  a  laughing  matter  to  him 
once;  but  now  he  is  haunted  with  the  thought  that  they  may  be  true." 
Cf.  also  the  Phcedo.  It  is  true,  however,  that  the  Greek  mystery  religions 
taught  a  faith  in  a  happy  future  life.  And  the  Christian  conception  may 
owe  a  great  deal  to  them.  This  point  has  not  yet  been  cleared  up  satis- 
factorily. 

1  Isa.  38:  9-19.  *  Ps.  88.  8  Ps.  6:5. 


IMMORTALITY  885 

down  and  riseth  not;  till  the  heavens  be  no  more,  they 
shall  not  awake,  or  be  raised  out  of  their  sleep.  ...  If  a 
man  die,  shall  he  live  again!"  l 

And  in  Ecclesiastes  we  read,  "Whatsoever  thy  hand  find- 
eth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might;  for  there  is  no  work,  nor  de- 
vice, nor  knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  in  the  grave  whither 
thou  goest."  2 

The  Christian  belief  in  heaven  springs  from  neither  the 
Jewish  nor  the  pagan  conception  of  the  underworld-life  of 
departed  shades.  It  comes  from  a  radically  different  source, 
namely,  the  late-Jewish  hope  in  a  coming  Messianic  King- 
dom on  earth.  What  the  Jews  had  really  thought  of  and 
longed  for  was  simply  long  life  on  this  earth,  with  children 
to  inherit  their  name  and  preserve  their  memory.  But  as 
they  lived  generation  after  generation,  oppressed,  ground 
under  foot  by  stronger  races,  they  came  more  and  more 
passionately  to  believe  in  an  ultimate  reversal  of  affairs, 
a  time  when  Jehovah  should  manifest  his  power  and  love  for 
them,  smite  their  enemies,  and  establish  an  era  of  prosperity 
and  peace.  We  have  traced  in  an  earlier  chapter  the  rise  of 
this  belief,  and  then  its  transformation  in  Gentile  minds 
into  the  belief  in  a  future  life  in  the  skies,  whither  the  faith- 
ful should  go  when  the  last  trump  sounded.3  Gradually,  as 
the  expected  New  Age  did  not  appear,  and  believers  died 
without  participation  in  it,  it  came  to  be  held  that  their 
souls,  separating  themselves  from  the  body  at  death,  went 
at  once  to  their  reward  in  this  heavenly  region. 

The  conception  of  heaven  has  always  been  vague  and 
unsatisfactory  in  Christian  thought,  but  the  belief  in  it 
remained  hardly  shaken  until  the  more  critical  reflection 
of  modern  times  turned  its  search-light  upon  all  the  tra- 
ditional dogmas. 

1  Job  14:  7-14.  2  Eccles.  9: 10. 

».  See  pp.  60-62;  75-79;  93-95;  109-111. 


386  PHILOSOPHICAL 

What  considerations  make  against  the  belief? 

(1)  It  takes  no  critical  acumen  to  perceive  the  prima 
facie  case  against  immortality.  In  all  our  experience  a 
man's  conscious  life  is  bound  up  with  the  fortunes  of  his 
body.  We  see  men  stunned  by  a  blow,  we  see  their  minds 
enfeebled  by  bodily  injury,  we  see  their  bodies  killed  and 
with  that  their  mental  life  apparently  ended.  Conscious- 
ness seems  to  be  dependent  upon  the  body's  supply  of  food, 
air,  and  sleep,  and  its  safety  from  harm.  To  suppose  that 
when  the  bodily  mechanism  stops  entirely,  consciousness, 
which  has  been  so  subject  to  its  influence,  gains  a  new  lease 
of  life  on  its  own  account,  has  always  been  difficult  for  re- 
flective persons.  And  this  explains,  no  doubt,  the  pale  and 
impotent  existence  which  the  ancients  almost  universally 
attributed  to  the  dead. 

(2)  The  rise  of  modern  physiological  psychology,  showing 
us,  as  it  does,  the  intimate  correlation  of  mind  and  brain, 
increases  the  difficulties  of  faith.  We  have  discovered  that 
thinking  tires  the  brain;  or,  to  put  it  the  other  way,  the 
fatigue  of  brain-cells  retards  and  inhibits  thinking.  The 
loss  of  memory,  weakening  of  the  will,  increase  in  petulance 
of  old  age  go  hand  in  hand  with  a  degeneration  of  brain- 
tissue.  Certain  kinds  of  consciousness  are  bound  up  with 
specific  parts  of  the  brain;  when  a  certain  portion  of  the 
brain  is  diseased  or  injured,  the  mind  is  affected  in  a  definite 
manner.  Whatever  may  be  the  relation  between  brain  and 
consciousness,  the  study  of  the  close  parallelism  between 
their  activities  makes  it  harder  to  resist  the  conviction  that 
the  disintegration  of  the  one  involves  the  disintegration  of 
the  other. 

(3)  Moreover,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  what  conscious  life 
can  be  like,  without  a  physical  body,  with  its  sense  organs 
and  organs  of  expression.   If  we  cut  out  of  our  consciousness 


IMMORTALITY  387 

the  visual,  auditory,  tactile,  motor,  and  other  bodily  pro- 
duced images,  what  have  we  left?  Very  little  if  anything. 
Yet  how  could  we  have  visual  experiences  without  eyes, 
or  touch-experiences  without  hands?  And,  setting  aside 
the  questions  what  sort  of  consciousness  we  could  have,  and 
how  we  could  communicate  with  our  friends,  what  would 
they  mean  to  us  apart  from  their  bodies?  Take  away  the 
look  of  your  dear  one,  her  facial  expression,  the  light  in  her 
eyes,  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  grace  of  her  movements, 
the  touch  of  her  hand,  what  have  you  remaining  to  attract 
and  interest  you? 

(4)  Modern  psychology  has  no  longer  any  use  for  the  con- 
cept of  "  soul."  But  if  there  is  a  "  soul,"  a  something  inhabit- 
ing the  body  as  a  tenant,  and  separable  from  it  at  death, 
where  does  it  abide,  how  does  it  get  into  the  body,  when  does 
it  get  into  the  body,  when  does  it  leave  the  body,  and  how? 
Do  portions  of  the  parents'  souls  separate  themselves,  join 
together  with  the  joining  of  the  germ  plasms  at  conception, 
to  form  a  new  immortal  soul?  If  so,  does  it  remain  immortal 
if  the  incipient  foetus  is  ejected  from  the  woman's  body,  if 
miscarriage  takes  place,  or  the  child  is  still-born?  Or  does 
a  new  soul  come  somewhence  at  the  moment  of  birth,  and 
enter  the  child  when  it  first  breathes?  The  more  clearly  we 
realize  the  continuity  of  the  physical  processes  of  conception, 
pregnancy,  and  birth,  the  more  difficult  it  becomes  to  know 
where  to  interpolate  a  soul. 

(5)  A  similar  continuity  is  seen  to  pervade  the  course  of 
evolution,  whereby  man  has  emerged  from  a  brute  ancestry. 
If  man  is  immortal,  must  not  his  brute  ancestors  have  been 
immortal,  and  their  descendants  in  the  diverging,  non-hu- 
man lines?  A  rather  disagreeable  alternative  seems  to  be 
offered.  On  the  one  hand,  you  may  say  that  at  a  certain 
point  in  his  ascent,  man  acquired  immortality.  If  so,  there 
was  a  time,  in  the  slow  evolution  of  the  human  type,  when 


388  PHILOSOPHICAL 

parents  who,  like  all  their  ancestors,  were  doomed  to  die, 
gave  birth  to  a  child  who  was  blessed  with  an  immortal 
future.  By  what  miracle  was  this  momentous  change  ef- 
fected? It  seems  unfair  to  the  generations  preceding.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  you  postulate  no  such  moment  of  acqui- 
sition of  an  immortal  soul,  you  must  grant  immortality  to  all 
the  animals  —  and  then  perhaps  to  the  plants  too,  for  the 
vegetable  and  animal  kingdoms  merge  gradually  one  into 
the  other,  just  as  brutehood  grew  insensibly  into  manhood. 
Many  animals  are,  indeed,  more  intelligent  and  more  affec- 
tionate than  human  babies,  or  underwitted  men,  idiots,  and 
—  doubtless  —  primitive  savages;  one  would  like  to  imag- 
ine one's  pet  dog  immortal.  But  when  it  comes  to  tigers  and 
snakes  and  mosquitoes  and  bedbugs  and  cholera  microbes, 
our  imagination  halts! 

(6)  Where  is  the  heaven  to  which  souls  go  at  death?  It 
was  easy  enough  for  the  ancients  to  picture  a  heavenly 
region  up  above  the  dome  of  the  sky,  easy  enough  for  the 
evangelist  to  think  of  Jesus  as  having  ascended  into  heaven 
and  sitting  there  on  the  right  hand  of  God.  But  we  have 
long  since  learned  the  naivete  of  that  primitive  world- view. 
We  can  no  longer  believe,  with  Dante,  in  an  island  in  the 
Western  sea,  to  which  Ulysses  could  sail,  where  the  moun- 
tain of  purgatory  reaches  up  to  paradise.  Nor  can  we  believe 
that  sulphur  springs  and  volcanic  steam  bubble  up  from  a 
hades  under  the  earth  where  departed  souls  groan  in  tor- 
ment. The  stellar  universe,  as  we  scan  it  with  our  telescopes, 
offers  indeed  unlimited  ports  to  which  we  may  conceive  of 
ourselves  as  going;  but  there  seems  something  grotesque 
about  the  fancy  of  our  winging  our  way  to  Sirius  or  the 
Pleiades.  And  whatever  heaven  may  lie  beyond  the  stars, 
millions  of  millions  of  miles  away,  we  cannot  easily  feel  so 
sure  of  it  as  the  pre-Copernicans  did  of  their  paradise  of 
God  just  above  the  ninth  sphere. 


IMMORTALITY  389 

All  these  skeptical  reflections  give  us,  however,  nothing 
but  a  series  of  difficulties  in  the  way  of  belief.  They  may  be 
met  by  the  reminder  that  we  naturally  cannot  conceive  our 
future  life,  because  we  have  no  experience  thereof.  We  see 
only  one  side  of  the  veil;  and  all  we  know  is  that  the  departed 
no  longer  figure  in  our  earthly  existence.  In  the  nature  of  the 
case,  we  cannot  disprove  immortality;  nor  does  the  lack 
of  evidence,  in  this  case,  constitute  a  presumption  against 
it,  since,  if  a  future  life  is  a  reality,  there  is  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  it  is  such  as  to  be  in  contact  with,  and  revealed 
to,  this  present  life.  The  relation  of  mind  to  brain  may  be 
conceived  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  separable;  and  it 
is  easy  to  formulate  answers  to  the  other  objections,  which, 
if  they  have  no  positive  evidence  to  support  them,  have 
equally  no  evidence  against  them.  We  may  turn  then  with 
open  minds  to  consider  the  leading  arguments  for  the  be- 
lief in  immortality. 

What  are  the  leading  arguments  for  the  belief? 

(1)  The  older  Christian  preaching  based  its  argument  for 
immortality  upon  the  supposedly  indubitable  fact  of  the 
resurrection  of  Christ.  But  a  critical  study  of  the  Gospel 
narratives  has  long  since  shown  them  to  be  late,  confused, 
mutually  contradictory,  and  in  many  respects  obviously 
legendary;  more  than  that,  they  are  at  odds  with  the  ear- 
liest Christian  preaching,  as  vouched  for  in  the  letters  of 
Paul.  Paul  and  the  apostles  undoubtedly  believed  them- 
selves to  have  had  revelations  of  the  risen  Lord;  and  that 
these  were  genuine  revelations  we  may  well  believe.  But 
just  what  their  experiences  were  we  shall  never  know;  and 
that  they  were  mistaken  in  taking  them  for  revelations  of 
the  risen  Christ  must  be  admitted  to  be  possible.1  In  any 
case,  that  the  Messiah,  a  unique  figure  with  a  unique  mis- 
1  See  above,  pp.  82-84  and  288. 


390  PHILOSOPHICAL 

sion,  should  have  risen  from  the  dead  does  not  prove  that 
ordinary  nien  can  do  so.  Christ's  own  words  on  the  matter, 
and  those  of  Paul  and  the  other  early  Christian  writers, 
are  so  sharply  at  variance  with  our  modern  conception  of 
the  future  life  that  we  cannot  use  them  to  support  our  own 
faith  except  by  reading  into  them  a  meaning  foreign  to  their 
original  intention.  For  the  future  life  anticipated  by  Christ, 
and  all  of  his  immediate  predecessors,  contemporaries,  and 
followers,  was  a  life  on  earth,  with  a  renovated  Jerusalem 
for  its  capital,  to  be  preceded  by  the  great  Judgment  Day, 
and  inaugurated  within  that  generation.  Our  modern 
hopes  have  grown  so  far  away  from  that  na'ive  conception 
that  the  faith  of  Christ  in  God  and  that  of  the  disciples  in 
Christ  can  hardly  serve  us  as  more  than  a  stimulus  to  an 
equally  daring  though  necessarily  different  and  less  tangible 
faith. 

(2)  Another  Biblical  support  for  faith,  still  often  used,  is 
Paul's  analogy  of  the  seed.1  Briefly,  the  idea  is  this:  as  a  seed 
seems  to  die  when  buried  in  the  ground,  but  really  gives 
birth  to  a  new  life,  so  may  the  human  body,  when  dead  and 
buried,  pass  into  a  new  form  of  life.  When  read  in  the  vague 
and  sounding  periods  of  the  King  James  Bible,  Paul's 
rhetoric  easily  wins  assent  from  the  unthinking.  But  a  mo- 
ment's thought  suffices  to  show  how  empty  it  is.  There  is 
really  no  analogy  between  the  buried  seed  and  the  buried 
body;  the  one,  still  living,  and  finding  itself  in  an  environ- 
ment favorable  to  its  growth,  proceeds  to  develop  into  a 
plant;  the  other,  which  is  really  dead,  disintegrates  and 
returns  to  dust.  The  greater  life  that  develops,  by  physical 
laws,  out  of  the  living  seed  is  still  a  physical  life,  continuous 
with  that  which  preceded;  the  new  life  postulated  to  succeed 
that  of  the  human  body  is  a  non-physical  life,  invisible,  in- 
tangible, utterly  out  of  relation  to  the  physical  world,  in 

1  1  Cor.  15 :  35-44. 


IMMORTALITY  391 

which  the  germination  of  the  seed  is  a  natural  and  intelli- 
gible event.  Moreover,  at  best,  the  plant  produced  from  a 
seed  is  a  different  plant  from  that  which  bore  the  seed;  there 
is  no  analogy  here  that  points  toward  immortality  of  the 
individual.  Every  tree  and  herb  dies  in  its  time;  it  is  only 
its  descendants  that  survive.  The  human  body  has  simi- 
larly its  seed,  buried  in  the  mother's  womb  as  the  plant's 
seed  is  buried  in  the  earth,  there  to  give  rise  to  a  new  life, 
which,  however,  has  no  continuity  of  memory  or  purpose 
with  the  parent  life.  This  is  the  true  analogy  of  the  plant 
seed ;  there  is  an  indefinitely  continued  life  of  the  germ  plasm, 
transmitted  from  body  to  body.  But  this  is  not  personal 
immortality;  the  individual  is  only  a  transient  by-product, 
surviving  long  enough  to  hand  on  the  life  force  to  its  de- 
scendants. 

(3)  Perhaps  the  belief  in  immortality  is  oftenest  held  to- 
day as  a  corollary  of  the  belief  in  God.  Since  God  is  good, 
it  is  felt,  he  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  deny  us  our  deepest 
longing,  to  live  on  and  to  have  our  dear  ones  live.  But  the 
argument  is  over  hasty.  If  God  is  not  omnipotent,  we  can- 
not be  sure  that  he  can  secure  immortality  for  us.  If  he  is 
omnipotent,  we  might  suppose  that  he  would  not  deny  us 
immortality;  but  in  view  of  the  fact  that  we  are  denied  so 
much  that  we  should  have  supposed,  a  'priori,  that  a  good 
God  would  give  us,  we  cannot  be  sure  that  he  will  not  deny 
us  this  too.  Many  evils  exist,  in  spite  of  God's  existence; 
why  not  death  too?  If  we  were  ignorant  of  the  actual  fact 
we  might  argue  with  equal  cogency  that  since  God  is  good, 
he  could  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  send  suffering  into  the  world, 
pain  that  crushes,  agony  that  kills.  Surely  the  parallelism 
of  the  two  arguments  should  show  that  both  are  inconclu- 
sive. The  fact  is,  we  know  as  little  about  God's  nature  and 
power  as  we  do  about  our  own  future;  our  trust  in  a  per- 
sonal Ruler  of  the  universe,  who  is  to  triumph  over  evil, 


392  PHILOSOPHICAL 

is  as  much  a  venture  of  faith  as  our  trust  in  our  own  im- 
mortality, and  cannot  be  used  to  prove  it. 

(4)  Another  argument  that  figures  prominently  in  current 
discussions  is  that  which  declares  that  we  have  an  "  instinct" 
or  "instinctive  longing"  for  immortality,  and  that  instincts 
do  not  exist  unless  there  are  objects  that  can  gratify  them. 
In  a  moderate  degree  this  is  true.  We  have  an  instinctive 
wish  to  live,  and  we  do  have  an  object  which  can  gratify  it 
to  some  extent  —  we  have  some  life.  But  few  instinctive 
longings  are  gratified  to  the  extent  that  we  could  wish;  the 
instinctive  longing  for  love,  for  power,  for  pleasure  and  free- 
dom from  pain  —  which  of  our  longings  is  more  than  in 
slight  measure  fulfilled?  Why  may  it  not  be  so  with  our 
longing  for  life  —  we  get  some,  but  not  nearly  so  much  as 
we  might  desire.  It  is  easy  to  see  (to  turn  from  dialectic  to 
history)  that  those  individuals  that  had  some  desire  to  live 
would  be  the  only  ones  that  would  survive  the  long  struggle 
for  existence;  this  is  the  actual  cause  of  the  presence  in  us 
of  the  desire  to  live  —  this  very  transient  earthly  life  called  it 
forth,  not  necessarily  any  heavenly  life  beckoning  from  above. 

(5)  Certain  scientific  and  philosophical  speculations  have 
frequently  been  invoked.  The  doctrines  of  the  Conserva- 
tion of  Energy  and  the  Persistence  of  Matter  are  held  to 
show  that  nothing  can  possibly  perish ;  when  wood  is  burned, 
the  same  elements  continue  to  exist  in  altered  combinations, 
and  when  the  body  decays  its  constituents  live  on  in  other 
forms.  And  indeed,  we  need  not  question  that  the  elements 
that  go  to  make  up  our  personalities  persist  into  the  indef- 
inite future.  But  if  those  elements,  like  the  body's  cells, 
disintegrate  and  pass  into  other  forms,  would  there  be  pos- 
sible any  continuity  of  memory  or  purpose?  Consciousness, 
as  the  name  implies,  is  an  organic  whole  made  up  of  many 
elements;  only  the  persistence  of  this  combination  of  elements 
would,  apparently,  constitute  personal  immortality.    And 


IMMORTALITY  393 

such  a  continuity  the  doctrines  above  mentioned,  even  con- 
sidering them  proved,  cannot  guarantee. 

Similarly,  the  "idealistic"  metaphysics,  which  declares 
everything  to  be  really  "mind,"  or  "spirit,"  and  not  "mat- 
ter" at  all,  even  if  granted  (and  it  is  granted  by  but  a  minor- 
ity of  philosophers  to-day),  can  bring  us  no  farther  toward 
a  proof  of  the  survival  of  the  individual.  To  call  the  stuff  of 
which  the  world  is  made  "mental"  instead  of  "material"  is 
rhetorically  suggestive;  but  a  "mental"  world  may  be  as 
unconcerned  with  our  personal  fortunes  as  a  "material" 
world.  Let  the  universe  be  throughout  a  mass  of  mind 
stuff,  or  even  a  great  consciousness,  a  World-Soul,  or  Ab- 
solute; grant  the  immortality  of  that  universal  life;  and  we 
are  yet  far  from  any  evidence  that  you  and  I  shall  know  each 
other  in  the  future  cycles  of  that  Life,  or  that  the  ideals 
dear  to  us  shall  be  attained. 

(6)  The  only  real  attempt  to  bring  forward  evidence  of  a 
future  life  is  that  which  has  been  made  by  the  spiritualists 
and  the  societies  for  psychical  research,  in  their  investiga- 
tions of  automatic  writing,  table-turning,  and  the  other 
trance  phenomena,  which  are  often  so  puzzling  and  often 
so  uncanny.  The  study  of  these  facts  is  still  in  its  infancy; 
bulky  volumes  of  "proceedings"  have  been  published,  and 
have  convinced  a  few  serious  students  of  the  reality  of  com- 
munications from  departed  spirits.  But  comparatively  few 
scientifically  trained  men  have  been  convinced  by  them, 
and  this  for  several  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  by  no 
means  demonstrated  that  other  explanations  of  the  phenom- 
ena are  untenable.  The  hypothesis  of  telepathic  communi- 
cation from  living  people  is  held  by  many  to  account  for 
all  the  more  puzzling  facts.  Others  hold  that  they  can  be 
explained,  so  far  as  they  are  genuine,  in  terms  of  the  sub- 
ject's own  subconsciousness.  Certainly  many  of  these 
phenomena  that  were  once  held  to  imply  spirit-communica- 


394  PHILOSOPHICAL 

tion  have  been  definitely  relegated  to  the  domain  of  the 
psychology  of  the  subconscious,  and  the  presumption  is 
that  other  phenomena,  now  inexplicable,  will  be  similarly 
interpreted  as  our  psychological  knowledge  widens.  A  sec- 
ond reason  for  skepticism  lies  in  the  great  amount  of  mal- 
observation  and  superstition  and  actual  fraud  that  has  been 
discovered  in  these  matters.  Many  students  become  so  dis- 
gusted with  the  fraudulent  practices  in  which  some  of  the 
leading  mediums  have  been  caught  that  they  will  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  the  whole  business.  In  the  third 
place,  the  sayings  and  doings  of  these  rapping  and  squeak- 
ing ghosts  are,  for  the  most  part,  so  trashy  and  silly  and 
beneath  the  dignity  of  immortal  souls,  and  withal  so  uncon- 
tributive  to  our  knowledge,  that  serious  investigators  are 
apt  to  lose  patience  with  them.  Why  do  Alexander  the 
Great  and  Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  an  Indian  Princess  (to 
mention  three  "spirits"  of  whose  presence,  in  succession,  the 
writer  was  once  assured)  deliver  themselves  of  such  closely 
similar  and  equally  paltry  messages? 

In  reply  to  these  criticisms,  the  spiritualists  admit  the 
existence  of  much  malobservation,  and  of  much  fraud;  they 
usually  admit  the  applicability  to  many  cases  of  the  expla- 
nations by  means  of  telepathy  or  the  subconsciousness  of  the 
subject.  But  they  insist  that  a  residue  of  genuine  phenomena 
remain,  inexplicable  save  on  the  spiritistic  hypothesis.  If 
the  words  of  the  departed  seem  confused  or  absurd,  it  is  per- 
haps because  their  intrusion  into  our  world  is  abnormal,  and 
they  are  unable  to  send  through  the  veil  that  separates  us 
more  than  these  hardly  articulate  messages.  It  has  even 
been  suggested  that  what  we  get  is  their  dream-life,  which 
may  be  as  chaotic  and  absurd  as  our  own.  At  any  rate,  we 
must  not  reject  this  mass  of  unassimilated  evidence  simply 
because  it  is  distasteful  to  us.  And  if  the  evidence  should 
point  toward  a  continued  existence  which  is  but  brief,  a 


IMMORTALITY  395 

gradual  fading  out  of  consciousness  after  death,  perhaps,  or 
a  future  life  like  that  which  the  ancients  imagined,  pale, 
ineffectual,  unhappy,  at  least  the  actual  knowledge  that 
death  is  not  final,  that  the  soul  can  survive  the  body's  decay, 
would  go  far  toward  encouraging  in  us  the  faith  toward 
which  we  yearn. 

In  the  end,  after  all  our  argumentation,  pro  and  con,  we 

must,  if  we  are  candid  and  sincere,  admit  our  ignorance. 

Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  aught  that  takes  place 

beyond  the  flamantia  mcenia  mundi.    We  are  no  better  off 

than  the  Persian  poet  who  wrote,  — 

"Strange,  is  it  not,  that  of  the  myriads  who 
Before  us  pass'd  the  door  of  Darkness  through 
Not  one  returns  to  tell  us  of  the  Road 
Which  to  discover  we  must  travel  too." 

We  cannot  prove  what  is  the  end  of  all  our  hearts'  desire. 
If  any  man  think  that  he  can  prove  it,  he  is  (to  echo  Kant) 
just  the  man  we  want  to  see  —  until  we  have  listened  so 
long  to  alleged  "proofs"  that  the  hope  long  deferred  maketh 
our  hearts  sick.  Science  gives  us  no  evidence;  and  few 
philosophers  have  been  able  to  construct  systems  that  should 
include  personal  immortality.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  believe ; 
our  duty  is  the  same  in  any  case.  If  we  cannot  believe  in  a 
future  life,  we  can  set  to  and  make  this  life  brave  and  glorious. 
Multitudes  of  men  who  have  had  not  even  hope  in  life 
beyond  the  grave  have  found  this  earthly  life  full  of  zest 
and  savor,  and  have  helped  to  make  the  lives  of  their  fellows 
happier  and  better  while  they  lasted.  To  sulk,  to  give  way 
to  depression  or  apathy,  because  this  life  were  all,  would  be 
the  part  of  cowardice  and  folly;  while  to  give  rein  to  lust 
and  immorality  because  of  a  removal  of  fear  of  future  ret- 
ribution would  be  to  expose  the  stupidity  and  selfishness 
of  a  soul  that  had  never  grasped  the  natural  worth  of  virtue 
or  learned  to  love  what  is  most  precious  in  this  life. 


396  PHILOSOPHICAL 

But  if  faith  in  our  future  is  not  absolutely  necessary, 
it  yet  adds  immense  vistas  and  a  deep  joy  to  life;  it  gives  a 
great  stimulus  to  moral  endeavor;  it  brings  a  salve  to  sorrow; 
it  takes  away  the  sting  from  death.  And  if  we  cannot  prove 
our  faith,  we  may  yet  believe  where  we  cannot  prove.  Cicero 
declared  that  he  had  rather  be  mistaken  with  Plato  than 
be  in  the  right  with  those  who  deny  the  life  after  death; 
and  a  noted  American  scholar,  in  a  recent  address,  repeated 
that  saying  as  his  confession  of  faith.1  Many  of  us  have  an 
almost  irresistible  feeling  that  this  life  cannot  be  all;  that 
intuition  may  be  right  —  many  of  us  believe  that  it  is  right. 
It  would  seem  that  in  cherishing  that  belief  we  have  every- 
thing to  gain  and  nothing  to  lose. 

J.  G.  Frazer,  Belief  in  Immortality.  F.  B.  Jevons,  Immortality 
(in  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Comparative  Religion).  E.  A. 
Crawley,  Idea  of  the  Soul.  C.  H.  Toy,  Judaism  and  Christianity, 
chap.  vii.  G.  B.  Cutten,  Psychological  Phenomena  of  Christianity, 
chap.  xxxi.  G.  A.  Gordon,  Witness  to  Immortality.  H.  E.  Fosdick, 
Assurance  of  Immortality.  G.  Galloway,  Philosophy  of  Religion, 
pp.  562-74.  C.  C.  Everett,  Theism  and  the  Christian  Faith,  chap, 
xxxiv.  L.  Abbott,  Theology  of  an  Evolutionist,  chap.  xi.  J.  Mar- 
tineau,  Study  of  Religion,  bk.  iv.  S.  D.  F.  Salmond,  Christian  Doc- 
trine of  Immortality.  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Religion  and  Immortality. 
J.  S.  Mill,  Theism,  pt.  in  (in  Three  Essays  on  Religion).  J.  M.  E. 
McTaggart,  Some  Dogmas  of  Religion,  chap.  in.  G.  Santayana, 
Reason  in  Religion,  chaps,  xm,  xiv.  The  Ingersoll  Lecture  Series 
(Houghton  Mifflin  Co.):  lectures  on  immortality  by  John  Fiske, 
William  James,  William  Osier,  etc.  W.  H.  Mallock,  Religion  as  a 
Credible  Doctrine,  chap.  iv.  G.  Forester,  Faith  of  an  Agnostic,  chap, 
vi.  G.  T.  Ladd,  Philosophy  of  Religion,  vol.  2,  chaps,  xliv-xlv. 
A.  K.  Rogers,  Religious  Conception  of  the  World,  pp.  261-84. 
W.  A.  Brown,  The  Christian  Hope.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  Science  and 
a  Future  Life.  F.  C.  S.  Schiller,  Riddles  of  the  Sphinx,  chap,  xi; 
Humanism,  xvn-xix.  Harvard  Theological  Review,  vol.  8,  p.  45. 
Hibbcrt  Journal,  vol.  10,  p.  543;  vol.  2,  p.  722. 

1  William  Osier,  Science  and  Immortality. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  VENTURE  OF  FAITH 

The  venture  of  faith  suggested  at  the  close  of  the  pre- 
ceding chapter  brings  us  to  our  final  problem,  which  is  the 
practical  one  concerning  our  right  to  believe  where  we  can- 
not prove.  This  much  debated  issue  can  be  divided  into 
three  distinct  questions,  which  we  will  discuss  in  turn. 

Which  is  the  higher  ideal,  loyal  belief  or  impartial  inves- 
tigation? 

The  Church  has  quite  generally  demanded  loyalty  to 
its  tenets  and  branded  unbelief  as  a  sin.  It  has  viewed 
free  thought  and  criticism  with  distrust  and  alarm;  it  has 
called  the  spirit  of  suspended  judgment  infidelity,  and  in- 
sinuated that  doubt  is  the  fruit  of  an  evil  life.  The  desirable 
man  is  the  "  believer,"  the  man  who  professes  confident 
belief  in  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  —  which  he  has  prob- 
ably not  investigated  with  any  critical  scrutiny  and  cannot 
defend  with  any  show  of  reason  —  who  refuses  to  harbor 
any  critical  reflections,  who  yields  his  intellect  wholly  to  the 
Church's  teaching,  accepts  whatever  he  is  taught,  and  looks 
askance  at  the  world  of  unbelievers  outside.  Men  are  urged 
to  stifle  any  incipient  doubts;  and  all  sorts  of  emotional  in- 
fluences are  brought  to  bear  to  keep  their  faith  warm  and 
living.  Belief,  in  short,  is  viewed  as  a  sort  of  loyalty;  and 
unbelief,  if  not  actual  sin,  is  at  least  a  sad  obsession,  to  be 
exorcised  by  any  means  available. 

In  sharp  contrast  with  this  attitude  is  the  ideal  of  modern 
science,  the  ideal  of  non-partisanship,  of  free  inquiry  and 


398  PHILOSOPHICAL 

criticism,  the  temper  that  looks  for  evidence  before  avowing 
belief  and  seeks  to  follow  it  whithersoever  it  leads.  This 
cooler-blooded  attitude  has  not,  of  course,  been  unknown 
among  theologians;  Dr.  Taylor,  our  New  England  divine, 
used  to  say,  "  Follow  truth  though  it  takes  you  over  Niag- 
ara!" and  Coleridge  wrote,  in  a  well-known  passage,  "  He 
who  begins  by  loving  Christianity  better  than  the  truth,  will 
proceed  by  loving  his  own  sect  or  church  better  than  Chris- 
tianity and  end  in  loving  himself  better  than  all."  But  on 
the  whole,  there  has  been  little  passion  for  truth  in  the 
Church,  little  willingness  seriously  to  admit  the  possibility 
of  delusion,  little  ability  to  look  impartially  at  both  sides 
of  the  great  mooted  questions.  Its  attitude  of  defense,  of 
guarding  the  sacred  deposit  of  faith,  is  only  beginning  to  be 
discredited  by  the  more  judicial,  unbiased  spirit  of  science. 
The  genuine  scientist  is  ashamed  to  accept  doctrines  on  the 
authority  of  past  teachers  who  themselves  were  anything 
but  critical  in  their  temper,  ashamed  to  yield  his  assent  to 
articles  supported  by  such  slight  and  dubious  evidence. 
Newton  laid  aside  his  theory  of  gravitation  for  fourteen 
years  because  of  a  discrepancy  in  his  data  for  the  moon's 
movements.  Kepler,  Faraday,  Darwin,  tried  hypothesis 
after  hypothesis,  and  kept  their  judgment  in  suspense  for 
scores  of  years  until  the  patient  accumulation  of  facts  seemed 
to  them  to  warrant  a  safe  conclusion.  Does  not  our  easy 
credulity  and  our  cocksure  dogmatism  look  pretty  shallow 
and  complacent  by  the  side  of  such  patient  search  and 
abstention? 

It  is  clear  that  we  cannot  be  really  sure  that  we  have  the 
truth,  and  not  illusion,  unless  we  do  freely  and  severely 
scrutinize  the  evidence  for  our  beliefs.  And  if  we  really  pre- 
fer the  truth  to  comfort  we  shall  refuse  to  prejudice  our 
judgment  prior  to  such  an  inquiry.  But  more  than  that. 
Beliefs  affect  conduct;  and  it  is  of  the  utmost  importance 


THE   VENTURE  OF  FAITH  399 

that  in  adjusting  ourselves  to  our  situation  in  the  world  we 
should  not  let  ourselves  be  blinded  by  our  hopes  or  pre- 
vented by  a  false  loyalty  from  looking  facts  squarely  in  the 
face.  It  is  a  realization  of  the  vital  importance  of  correct 
belief  which  led  Huxley  to  speak  of  "the  sin  of  faith"  — 
"that  form  of  credence  which  does  not  fulfil  the  duty  of 
making  a  right  use  of  reason,  which  prostitutes  reason  by 
giving  assent  to  propositions  which  are  neither  self-evident 
nor  adequately  proved."  1  Similarly,  Mill  writes  of  "the 
great  intellectual  attainment  of  not  believing  without  evi- 
dence." 2  And  Clifford,  even  more  emphatically,  declares, 
"  Belief  ...  is  not  ours  for  ourselves,  but  for  humanity.  It 
is  rightly  used  on  truths  which  have  been  established  by 
long  experience  and  waiting  toil,  and  which  have  stood  in 
the  fierce  light  of  free  and  fearless  questioning.  ...  It  is 
desecrated  when  given  to  unproved  and  unquestioned  state- 
ments. ...  If  a  man,  holding  a  belief  which  he  was  taught 
in  childhood  or  persuaded  of  afterwards,  keeps  down  and 
pushes  away  any  doubts  which  arise  about  it  in  his  mind, 
purposely  avoids  the  reading  of  books  and  the  company  of 
men  that  call  in  question  or  discuss  it,  and  regards  as  im- 
pious those  questions  which  cannot  easily  be  asked  without 
disturbing  it  —  the  life  of  that  man  is  one  long  sin  against 
mankind."  3 


1  Life  and  Letters,  vol.  n,  p.  427.  Cf.  also  this  passage  from  a  letter  to 
Charles  Kingsley  (vol.  i,  p.  233),  written  after  the  death  of  his  beloved 
son,  in  reply  to  Kingsley's  plea  for  faith  in  immortality  as  a  necessary 
comfort  in  such  grief:  "  Had  I  lived  a  couple  of  centuries  earlier  I  could  have 
fancied  a  devil  scoffing  at  me  and  them,  and  asking  me  what  profit  it  was 
to  have  stripped  myself  of  the  hopes  and  consolations  of  the  mass  of  man- 
kind. To  which  my  only  reply  was  and  is,  O  devil!  truth  is  better  than 
much  profit.  I  have  searched  over  the  grounds  of  my  belief;  and  if  wife 
and  child  and  name  and  fame  were  all  to  be  lost  to  me  one  after  the  other 
as  the  penalty,  still  I  will  not  lie." 

-  Essay  on  Berkeley. 

8  The  Ethics  of  Belief,  in  Lectures  and  Essays,  vol.  n. 


400  PHILOSOPHICAL 

This  rigorous  self-restraint  in  belief  is  not  a  more  intel- 
lectual feat,  it  is  a  moral  victory.  Facing  as  we  do  to-day 
political  and  social  problems  of  the  deepest  importance,  prob- 
lems wrapped  at  best  in  perplexity,  but  made  vastly  more 
difficult  through  prejudice  and  passion,  the  habit  of  basing 
convictions  on  evidence,  and  not  upon  personal  preference, 
or  bias,  or  unquestioned  authority,  is  an  essential  of  good 
citizenship.  Led  this  way  by  class  interest,  pulled  that  way 
by  the  easy  hope  that  to  most  men  so  readily  becomes  belief, 
blinded  by  appeals  to  the  emotions  and  duped  by  vague  and 
superficial  arguments,  the  man  who  has  not  accustomed 
himself  to  forming  his  judgments  disinterestedly  and  accu- 
rately, as  the  facts  point,  will  not  be  the  man  who  will  truly 
serve  his  country  or  the  world.  Not  he  who  doubts  and 
questions  is  the  infidel,  the  unfaithful  man,  but  he  who 
lazily  accepts  what  he  is  taught,  or  selfishly  adopts  a  faith 
which  pleases  him,  who  makes  his  judgment  blind,  and  lets 
himself  be  seduced  by 

"Sweet  comforts  false,  worse  than  true  wrongs." 

Moreover,  there  is  something  absurd  in  the  spectacle 
of  a  host  of  different  churches,  each  demanding  allegiance 
to  its  particular  brand  of  doctrine,  each  seeking  not  the 
real  facts  in  the  case  but  the  promulgation  of  its  inherited 
and  loyally  espoused  view  of  the  facts.  Not  in  any  such 
way  can  Christian  unity  come,  or  any  general  knowledge 
of  the  real  truth  about  our  situation.  Matters  have  indeed 
improved;  but  there  is  room  for  much  further  improve- 
ment. "A  century  ago  we  were  all  eyes  for  the  errors  of 
every  religious  body  but  our  own;  to-day  we  are  recognizing 
the  truth  in  one  another's  positions;  but  there  is  one  more 
stage,  and  that  is  for  each  to  awaken  to  the  errors  in  his 
own  views  —  and  that  is  the  hardest  stage  of  all.  "  l  It  is 
1  B.  S.  Streeter,  Restatement  and  Reunion,  p.  58. 


THE   VENTURE  OF  FAITH  401 

necessary  for  us  to  realize  that,  however  confident  we  may  be 
in  our  accustomed  views,  we  may  be  wrong.  There  are 
doubtless  many  facts  we  have  not  considered,  many  argu- 
ments to  which  we  have  never  given  a  really  fair  hearing. 
We  must  not  lazily  assume  the  truth  of  inherited  beliefs, 
or  confine  our  reading  to  books  that  support  our  favorite 
notions.  We  must  never  consider  any  matter  definitely 
settled  so  long  as  any  doubt  lingers  in  our  minds.  We  must 
be  willing  to  apply  the  same  standards  of  evidence  to  our 
religion  as  to  any  other,  the  same  methods  of  historical 
study  to  the  Bible  as  to  the  Koran  or  the  Zend-Avesta. 
We  must  be  fair  to  all  sides  of  a  question,  never  shunning 
or  suppressing  evidence,  never  coloring  our  statements  of 
the  facts.  We  must  not  frown  on  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry  in 
others,  even  when  they  question  doctrines  which  to  us  are 
precious  and  beyond  doubt.  We  must  not  fear  for  ourselves 
the  leading  of  the  evidence,  or  be  unwilling  to  give  up,  if 
need  be,  whatever  is  most  hallowed  by  old  associations  and 
most  dearly  cherished  in  our  hearts.  For  there  is  no  lasting 
safety  in  illusions,  and  no  end  of  controversy  or  ultimate 
rest  for  the  spirit  of  man  but  in  the  truth. 

This  does  not  mean  that  we  should  rudely  thrust  our 
doubts  upon  everybody  we  meet,  or  set  atheistic  literature 
before  our  boys  and  girls  at  every  stage  in  their  education. 
But  it  does  mean  that  we  should  refuse  to  drug  our  own 
intellects  and  those  of  others  over  whom  we  have  influence, 
or  to  prefer  a  stupid  acquiescence  to  the  pangs  of  growth. 
To  him  who  has  but  just  begun  to  doubt  his  creed  the  way 
back  is  usually  still  open,  if  the  comfort  and  peace  of  his 
early  faith  weighs  more  with  him  than  the  pursuit  of  truth. 
Many  a  young  man,  beginning  the  study  of  life,  finds  the 
old  assumptions  tottering  in  his  mind,  and,  unable  to  face 
the  pain  of  losing  what  is  so  precious  to  him,  runs  away 
from  the  dangerous  studies,  devotes  himself  with  renewed 


402  PHILOSOPHICAL 

ardor  to  his  espoused  cause,  and  so  encases  himself  in  the 
shell  of  habit  that  he  soon  forgets  the  doubts  that  troubled 
him.  He  follows,  in  spirit,  Pascal's  cynical  advice  to  the 
waverer,  to  take  the  holy  water  and  say  the  masses;  "that 
will  stupefy  you  and  make  you  believe  again!"  —  Ca  vous 
abetira  et  vous  fera  croire.  That  stupefying  of  the  intellect, 
that  reducing  it  to  the  level  of  the  beasts  —  ga  vous  abetira 
—  is  a  high  price  to  pay  for  the  consolation  of  the  faith. 
Yet  if  it  were  impossible  to  make  life  strong  and  useful  and 
full  of  cheer  without  it,  we  might  well  prefer,  if  we  could  do 
so,  to  sacrifice  truth  to  happiness.  But  it  is  not  impossible 
to  be  truly  pious  and  yet  scrupulous  lovers  of  truth;  it  is 
not  necessary  to  flinch  from  facts  to  make  our  religious  life 
earnest  and  strong  and  devout.  It  is  possible,  while  keeping 
our  spiritual  life  aglow,  to  keep  our  intellectual  integrity, 
to  strip  ourselves  of  irresponsible  beliefs,  and,  however 
sure  we  may  feel  of  this  doctrine  or  that,  to  keep  always 
a  window  open  toward  the  light. 

Should  we  accept  or  reject  beliefs  of  whose  evidence  we 
are  uncertain? 

It  seems  hardly  debatable  that  loyalty  to  the  truth,  or  to 
whatever  probability  the  evidence  may  seem  to  us  indi- 
vidually to  suggest,  is  to  be  set  above  loyalty  to  any  au- 
thority of  creed  or  dogma.  But  what  are  we  to  do  in  cases 
where  there  is  no  convincing  evidence  one  way  or  the  other, 
or  where  we  are  unable  to  satisfy  ourselves  of  its  leading? 
The  more  rigorous  of  the  scientifically  minded  insist  that  in 
all  such  cases,  where  we  have  not  found  sufficient  evidence 
to  convince  our  reason,  we  must  remain  agnostic,  keep  our 
judgment  in  suspense,  refuse  to  entertain  any  opinion. 
Clifford  asserts  roundly  that  "it  is  wrong  always,  every- 
where, and  for  any  one,  to  believe  anything  upon  insuf- 
ficient evidence.  '  But, '  says  one,  '  I  am  a  busy  man;  I  have 


THE   VENTURE  OF  FAITH  403 

no  time  for  the  long  course  of  study  which  would  be 
necessary  to  make  me  in  any  degree  a  competent  judge 
of  certain  questions,  or  even  able  to  understand  the  na- 
ture of  the  arguments.'  Then  he  should  have  no  time  to 
believe." 

But,  declares  the  practical  man,  this  limitation  of  belief 
is  impracticable  and  undesirable.  The  beliefs  which  are  so 
clearly  evidenced  as  to  be  beyond  doubt  are  not  enough  to 
live  upon;  we  need  to  hold,  at  least  provisionally,  some  belief 
concerning  matters  about  which  evidence  is  lacking  one  way 
or  the  other.  To  keep  our  minds  a  blank  and  refuse  to  decide 
at  all  would  be  to  paralyze  our  action.  Some  choice  is  forced 
upon  us:  we  have  not  only  a  right,  but  a  duty,  to  adopt,  at 
our  own  risk,  one  conjecture  or  the  other,  and  act  upon  it. 
The  youth  has  to  ask  himself  the  question,  Will  it  be  best 
for  me  to  study  this,  or  to  study  that?  to  enter  this  voca- 
tion, or  that?  He  cannot  have  enough  knowledge  of  his  own 
powers  and  talents,  or  of  the  untried  tasks  into  which  his 
choice  will  lead  him,  to  feel  sure  that  he  is  judging  aright. 
But  decide  one  way  or  the  other  he  must.  His  vocation  is 
a  venture  of  faith.  So  is  his  marriage,  and  parenthood,  and 
a  host  of  other  undertakings.  The  man  who  should  refuse 
to  let  faith  have  its  way  in  any  of  these  matters  would  amount 
to  nothing,  would  lose  his  chance  to  count  in  the  world.  In 
the  world  of  belief,  as  in  the  world  of  action  —  and,  for  that 
matter,  the  two  are  inseparably  connected  —  it  is,  nothing 
venture  nothing  have. 

Indeed,  as  William  James  pointed  out  in  his  now  famous 
essay,  we  run  as  great  a  risk  in  not  believing  as  in  believing. 
"Believe  truth?  Shun  error!  —  these  are  two  materially 
different  laws;  and  by  choosing  between  them  we  may  end 
by  coloring  differently  our  whole  intellectual  life.  We  may 
regard  the  chase  for  truth  as  paramount,  and  the  avoidance 
of  error  as  secondary;  or  we  may,  on  the  other  hand,  treat 


404  PHILOSOPHICAL 

the  avoidance  of  error  as  more  imperative,  and  let  truth 
take  its  chance.  Clifford  exhorts  us  to  the  latter  course. 
Believe  nothing,  he  tells  us,  keep  your  mind  in  suspense 
forever,  rather  than  by  closing  it  on  insufficient  evidence 
incur  the  awful  risk  of  believing  lies.  You,  on  the  other  hand, 
may  think  that  the  risk  of  being  in  error  is  a  very  small 
matter  when  compared  with  the  blessings  of  real  knowledge, 
and  be  ready  to  be  duped  many  times  in  your  investigation 
rather  than  postpone  indefinitely  the  chance  of  guessing 
true.  .  .  .  Dupery  for  dupery,  what  proof  is  there  that  dupery 
through  hope  is  so  much  worse  than  dupery  through  fear? 
I,  for  one,  can  see  no  proof;  and  I  simply  refuse  obedience 
to  the  scientist's  command  to  imitate  his  kind  of  option, 
in  a  case  where  my  own  stake  is  important  enough  to  give 
me  the  right  to  choose  my  own  form  of  risk."  l 

No  doubt  we  must  discriminate  between  different  types 
of  situation.  There  are  cases,  where  the  decision  has  little 
or  no  practical  bearing,  where  we  may  best  keep  our  minds 
in  the  state  of  suspended  judgment,  in  order  not  to  bias  our 
investigation  or  that  of  others.  There  are,  further,  cases 
of  great  importance,  where  we  must  check  our  belief  from 
outrunning  the  evidence,  because  a  hasty  and  ill-founded 
belief  may  be  a  wrong  to  some  one.  Clifford's  shipowner 
should,  indeed,  have  been  especially  slow  to  believe  in  the 
seaworthiness  of  his  vessel,  because  that  belief,  if  false, 
was  pregnant  with  danger  to  those  who  might  embark.  A 
jury  should  be  extra  cautious  about  believing  in  the  guilt 
of  a  man  whom  they  have  power  to  send  to  prison  or  the 
gallows.  We  should  all  hesitate  long  before  believing  a 
muckraker  or  a  gossip,  before  believing  in  the  guilt  of  a  friend, 
or  in  the  perfidy  of  a  neighboring  nation.  Readiness  to 
believe  what  it  is  to  our  material  advantage,  and  some 
one  else's  disadvantage,  that  we  believe,  or  what  might 
1  The  Will  to  Believe,  pp.  18,  27. 


THE  VENTURE  OF  FAITH  405 

involve  us  in  a  terrible  and  unnecessary  war,  is  a  grave  fault 
and  cannot  be  too  severely  rebuked. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  cases  where  the  risk  in  not 
believing  seems  to  be  greater  than  that  in  believing.  Will 
this  course  of  treatment  cure  my  sickness?  I  may  have  little 
to  go  on  in  trusting  it;  but  if  I  refuse  my  belief  I  lose  that 
chance  of  being  cured.  Will  the  use  of  alcohol  hurt  me? 
I  may  not  be  convinced  by  the  evidence  shown  me  that 
it  will;  but  unless  I  believe  that  it  will,  and  avoid  it,  I  run 
the  risk  of  irreparable  injury.  Shall  I  believe  in  a  personal 
God?  The  argument  may  seem  to  be  weak;  but  the  risk 
seems  to  be  greater  in  losing  the  comfort  of  a  belief  that 
may  be  true  than  in  enjoying  a  belief  that  may  be  false. 
The  fact  is  that,  in  these  matters,  not  to  believe  is,  prac- 
tically, to  disbelieve.  To  refuse  to  believe  in  a  personal 
God  means  to  go  without  the  sense  of  his  companionship  and 
care  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  much  as  if  we  flatly  disbelieved. 
If  the  evidence  is  not  strong,  one  way  or  the  other,  why 
should  we  not  choose  to  avoid  the  greater  danger,  and  accept, 
provisionally,  some  working  belief,  as  we  would  use  a  tem- 
porary bridge  or  building,  in  order  that  our  practical  life 
may  not  be  checked  by  a  needlessly  hesitating  caution? 

Certainly  in  such  cases  we  should  not  forget  that  we  are 
dealing  with  possibilities  only,  that  we  are  making  a  ven- 
ture of  faith.  We  should  be  tentative  and  humble  in  our 
assertions  of  belief,  always  maintaining  the  distinction  be- 
tween working  hypotheses  and  well-evidenced  conclusions, 
never  erecting  our  personal  faith  into  dogma  or  thrusting 
it  rudely  upon  others.  For  the  sake  of  all  clearness  of 
thought,  for  the  sake  of  freedom  from  discord  and  strife, 
above  all,  for  the  sake  of  the  dignity  and  repute  of  our  re- 
ligion, we  must  cease  from  our  cocksure  assertion  of  these 
beliefs  that  we  cannot  prove,  cease  from  using  them  as  a 
requisite  of  piety.   But  with  these  cautions  in  mind,  there 


406  PHILOSOPHICAL 

seems  to  be  no  real  reason  why  we  should  not  allow  our 
minds  to  run  far  beyond  the  little  mass  of  observations  and 
inferences  that  we  have  as  yet  accumulated,  and  adopt,  as 
working  hypotheses,  any  conjectures  or  hopes  that  can 
serve  as  a  useful  basis  for  our  practical  activity. 

May  non-evidential  motives  properly  influence  belief? 

If  we  agree  that  belief  may  properly,  on  occasion,  out- 
strip evidence,  we  have  yet  to  consider  whether  these  work- 
ing hypotheses,  these  over-beliefs,  may  be  influenced  by 
non-evidential  motives.  In  simpler  phrase,  may  we  let 
ourselves  be  guided  by  our  desires?  Is  the  "will  to  believe" 
legitimate? 

Not  a  few,  the  Cliffords,  the  Huxleys,  and  other  men  of 
fine  scruples,  insist  that  to  allow  our  wish  to  be  father  to 
belief  is  to  corrupt  our  intellects.  To  refuse  to  face  the 
fact  of  our  actual  ignorance,  and  let  the  mind  dwell  only 
upon  the  most  palatable  possibilities,  is  a  sort  of  dreaming 
that  is  cowardly  and  demoralizing.  Moreover,  there  is 
something  childishly  silly  in  thus  dwelling  in  heavens  of 
our  own  invention  instead  of  recognizing  our  actual  situa- 
tion and  making  the  best  of  it.  "There  is  that  to  my  own 
perception  in  honeyed  theories  of  our  place  or  prospects  as 
men,  in  postulates  of  a  golden  solution  of  things,  fetched 
from  whatever  heaven  of  invention,  which  are  accredited 
because  so  eminently  to  our  taste,  —  there  is  that  in  the 
sight  of  the  constructive  postulator,  fancy-free,  busy  at  his 
landscape-gardening  in  the  infinite  —  which  is  not  so  no- 
ticeably immoral  as  ridiculous."  J 

To  such  asceticism  of  belief  we  must  all  give  great  honor. 

In  a  world  where  few  question  seriously  the  views  which 

form  their  particular  intellectual  environment,  and  fewer 

still  weigh  impartially  the  evidence  on  matters  that  affect 

1  D.  S.  Miller,  in  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  vol.  9,  p.  169. 


THE  VENTURE  OF  FAITH  407 

their  happiness,  the  refusal  to  be  influenced  by  the  con- 
geniality of  a  conception  is  a  very  rare  and  admirable  virtue. 
But  is  it  necessary?  The  venture  of  faith  in  what  is  consoling 
and  inspiring  will  not  mean  a  tampering  with  the  truth  or 
vitiating  our  intellectual  integrity,  if  we  keep  these  over- 
beliefs  as  personal  and  provisional,  clearly  discriminating 
between  them  and  those  beliefs  that  rest  upon  evidence. 
It  is  not  ridiculous,  if  these  beliefs  do  really  console  and 
inspire  us.  In  cases  where  we  really  do  not  know,  to  seek  to 
deprive  men  of  their  conviction  that  their  happiest  hopes 
are  well  founded,  is  to  diminish  human  happiness  unwar- 
rantably. It  may  be  seriously  urged,  indeed,  that  it  is  our 
duty  to  cherish  optimistic  beliefs,  of  whatever  sort  are 
plausible  to  our  particular  minds,  to  "accept  the  richer  of 
two  unproved  possibilities,"  since  hopefulness  is  a  great 
stimulant  to  energy  and  addition  to  the  worth  of  life. 

Certain  cases,  at  least,  seem  clear.  When  believing  in 
a  desirable  future  fact  may  help  to  bring  that  fact  about, 
it  would  be  wrong  to  refuse  to  utilize  this  means.  James 
gives  us  the  case  of  the  Alpine  climber  who  must  leap  a 
chasm  to  extricate  himself  from  an  unlucky  situation.  A 
strict  accounting  of  the  evidence  gained  from  his  past  ex- 
perience might  suggest  grave  doubts  as  to  his  ability  to 
make  the  leap  in  safety.  Must  he  then  refuse  to  make  the 
venture  of  faith?  But  precisely  that  faith  is  needed  to  nerve 
his  powers  and  make  its  object  actual.  So  in  every  man's  life 
there  are  occasions  when  belief  in  one's  self  or  in  others  may 
make  a  real  difference  in  the  outcome.  Must  a  mother  refuse 
to  allow  herself  to  believe  in  the  morality  of  her  son,  in  his 
abilities,  and  success?  But  many  a  son  who,  according  to 
the  evidence  at  hand,  has  seemed  to  others  worthless,  has 
been  actually  saved  and  made  into  a  man  by  this  blind  belief 
of  his  mother.  A  lover's  belief  that  he  can  win  the  girl  of  his 
desire,  my  belief  that  you  like  me,  the  patriot's  belief  that 


408  PHILOSOPHICAL 

his  country  will  be  victorious  in  war,  may  help  in  the  at- 
taining of  the  object  coveted.  To  abstain  from  faith,  even 
in  a  forlorn  hope,  under  such  circumstances,  might  involve 
a  practical  loss  for  which  the  value  of  the  intellectual 
scrupulousness  could  hardly  compensate. 

But  in  other  cases  also,  where  no  practical  consequences 
are  involved,  to  let  belief  follow  desire  seems  innocent.  To 
believe  in  the  safety  of  dear  ones  whom  you  know  to  be  in 
danger,  or  in  your  own  safe  emergence  from  a  dangerous 
situation,  even  though  that  belief  can  in  no  wise  affect  the 
outcome,  seems  clear  gain.  Why  should  we  not  live  as  long 
as  we  can  in  the  presence  of  these  more  hopeful  thoughts? 
Even  if  they  turn  out  to  be  mistaken,  we  shall  have  been  for 
so  long  the  happier.  So  it  seems  to  be  with  the  beliefs  in 
immortality,  in  the  personality  of  God,  and  the  other  matters 
where  evidence  fails  us.  Our  highest  hopes  may  turn  out 
to  be  true — we  believe  they  will.  Why  should  we  then  keep 
reminding  ourselves  that  they  are,  after  all,  but  hopes,  and 
darkening  our  horizon  by  the  reminder  of  our  ignorance? 
We  know,  after  all,  so  little;  the  uncharted  is  vastly  greater 
than  the  little  fragments  of  reality  we  understand.  As  re- 
gards all  the  infinite  deeps  beyond  our  gaze,  let  us  be  un- 
ashamed to  trust  our  hopes. 

We  must,  of  course,  hold  all  these  over-beliefs  open  to 
revision  when  evidence  appears;  we  must  not  let  the  "will 
to  believe"  deter  us  from  the  tedious  and  worrisome  proc- 
ess of  investigation  and  criticism;  we  must  not  pretend  that 
our  hopes  are  proved  simply  because  we  hold  them  per- 
sonally with  conviction;  we  must  not  suppose  that  our 
faiths  are  truths  "above  reason,"  or  that  their  comforting 
power  is  a  proof  of  their  truth.  Above  all,  we  must  not 
thrust  them  dogmatically  upon  others  or  make  them  a  re- 
quirement of  admission  to  our  Church.  We  must  not  seek 
to  base  our  religion  upon  our  unproved  hopes;  Christianity 


THE  VENTURE  OF  FAITH  409 

has  too  much  that  is  empirically  verifiable  for  it  to  be 
rested  upon  foundations  that  may,  even  conceivably,  be 
shaken.  But  we  may  well  let  our  religion  flower  into  these 
beautiful  hopes  as  its  sweetest  development  and  consum- 
mation. 

The  legitimacy  of  a  personal  faith  of  this  sort  has  been 
urged  not  only  by  theologians  and  churchmen  but  by  many 
men  of  rationalistic  temper  and  ideals.  John  Stuart  Mill, 
keen  critic  and  cautious  reasoner,  ends  his  very  radical  book, 
Three  Essays  on  Religion,  with  this  thought:  "To  me  it 
seems  that  human  life,  small  and  confined  as  it  is  .  .  .  stands 
greatly  in  need  of  any  wider  range  of  aspiration  for  itself 
and  its  destination,  which  the  exercise  of  imagination  can 
yield  to  it  without  running  counter  to  the  evidence  of  fact; 
and  that  it  is  a  part  of  wisdom  to  make  the  most  of  any,  even 
small,  probabilities  on  this  subject,  which  furnish  imagina- 
tion with  any  footing  to  support  itself  upon.  And  I  am  satis- 
fied that  the  cultivation  of  such  a  tendency  in  the  imagina- 
tion, provided  it  goes  on  pari  passu  with  the  cultivation  of 
severe  reason,  has  no  necessary  tendency  to  pervert  the 
judgment;  but  that  it  is  possible  to  form  a  perfectly  sober 
estimate  of  the  evidence  on  both  sides  of  a  question  and  yet 
to  let  the  imagination  dwell  by  preference  on  those  possibili- 
ties which  are  at  once  the  most  comforting  and  the  most 
improving,  without  in  the  least  degree  overrating  the  solidity 
of  the  grounds  for  expecting  that  these  rather  than  any 
others  will  be  the  possibilities  actually  realized.  Though 
this  is  not  in  the  number  of  the  practical  maxims  handed 
down  by  tradition  and  recognized  as  rules  for  the  conduct  of 
life,  a  great  part  of  the  happiness  of  life  depends  upon  the 
tacit  observance  of  it.  .  .  .  On  these  principles  it  appears  to 
me  that  the  indulgence  of  hope  with  regard  to  the  govern- 
ment of  the  universe  and  the  destiny  of  man  after  death, 
while  we  recognize  as  a  clear  truth  that  we  have  no  ground 


410  PHILOSOPHICAL 

for  more  than  a  hope,  is  legitimate  and  philosophically  de- 
fensible." 

A  more  recent  writer  has  phrased  the  same  ideal  as  follows : 
"  What  I  have  wished  to  indicate  is  an  attitude  of  what  I  may 
call  active  expectancy  —  the  attitude  of  a  man  who,  while 
candidly  recognizing  that  he  does  not  know,  and  faithfully 
pursuing  or  awaiting  knowledge,  and  ready  to  accept  it 
when  it  comes,  yet  centers  meantime  his  emotional,  and 
therefore  his  practical  life  about  a  possibility  which  he  se- 
lects because  of  its  value,  its  desirability.  .  .  .  When  I  speak 
here  of  faith,  I  speak  of  an  attitude  which  is  not  primarily 
intellectual  at  all,  and  which  is  quite  compatible  with  — 
nay,  which  depends  upon  —  intellectual  agnosticism;  for  it 
presupposes  that,  in  the  region  to  which  it  applies,  we  do  not 
know.  The  attitude  I  would  describe  is  one  of  the  emotions 
and  the  will  —  the  laying  hold,  in  the  midst  of  ignorance,  of 
a  possibility  that  may  be  true,  and  directing  our  feelings 
and  our  conduct  in  accordance  with  it.  .  .  .  [This]  attitude 
is  different  in  its  origin  and  effect  from  an  attitude  based 
upon  knowledge.  It  is  more  precarious,  more  adventurous, 
more  exciting,  more  liable  to  ups  and  downs.  But  it  may  be 
equally  and  even  more  efficacious  upon  life;  and  it  is  not 
necessarily  to  be  condemned  as  illegitimate." x 

But  can  we  not  say  even  more  than  this?  Such  a  faith  in 
the  meaning  and  destiny  of  life  is  not  only  legitimate,  it  is 
almost  necessary,  for  most  men,  for  the  richest  unfolding 
of  their  energies  and  the  deepest  dedication  to  their  ideals. 
The  men  who  have  done  great  things  are  the  men  who  have 
had  faith  in  something,  a  faith  held  perhaps  in  spite  of  ap- 
pearances or  of  ridicule,  a  faith  that  they  followed  like  a 
guiding  star  through  long  years  of  patient  labor  and  utmost 
sacrifice.  Alexander,  with  his  faith  in  the  irrestistible  power 

1  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Religion,  A  Criticism  and  a  Forecast,  pp.  ix-x;  78-80. 
(Condensed.) 


THE  VENTURE  OF  FAITH  411 

of  his  Hellenic  phalanx;  Paul,  with  his  faith  that  his  Gospel 
could  redeem  the  world;  Cecil  Rhodes  and  the  other  empire- 
builders,  with  their  faith  in  the  future  of  the  lands  to  which 
they  gave  their  lives  —  such  are  the  men  who  have  pushed 
humanity  along  the  path  of  progress.  Can  we  not  almost  say 
that  to  be  great  is  to  cherish  some  such  faith  and  let  it  dom- 
inate every  hour?  The  patriot  has  faith  in  his  country,  the 
lover  in  his  lady,  the  religious  man  in  his  God.  Why  should 
we  not  believe  —  earnestly,  eagerly,  as  the  patriot  does, 
ardently,  passionately,  as  the  lover  does?  What  if  we  should 
be  mistaken?  Even  so,  it  will  be  better  to  have  believed. 
But  however  mistaken  the  particular  form  of  our  hopes  may 
be,  nothing  can  shake  our  conviction  that  somehow  good 
will  triumph  over  evil,  that  some  great  destiny  awaits  us" 
which  will  justify  the  patience  and  the  passion  of  our  faith. 

W.  K.  Clifford,  Ethics  of  Belief,  Ethics  of  Religion  (in  Lectures 
and  Essays,  vol.  u).  W.  James,  Will  to  Believe,  title  essay;  Some 
Problems  of  Philosophy,  Appendix.  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
vol.  9,  p.  169;  vol.  19,  p.  212.  E.  H.  Rowland,  Right  to  Believe, 
chap.  I.  H.  Sidgwick,  Ethics  of  Religion  (in  Practical  Ethics).  G.  L. 
Dickinson,  Religion,  A  Criticism  and  Forecast,  chap,  iv;  Religion 
and  Immortality,  chap.  i.  J.  S.  Mill,  Theism,  pt.  v.  L.  Stephen, 
An  Agnostics  Apology.  T.  H.  Huxley,  Science  and  the  Christian 
Tradition,  chaps,  vii-ix.  W.  E.  H.  Lecky,  Map  of  Life,  chap.  xi. 
A.  H.  Lloyd,  Will  to  Doubt.  G.  S.  Fullerton,  World  We  Live  In, 
chap,  xviii.  B.  W.  Bode,  Outline  of  Logic,  chap.  xv.  Harvard 
Theological  Review,  vol.  3,  p.  294. 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  III 

What  is  the  present  status  of  theology? 

We  have  now  passed  in  rapid  review  the  leading  argu- 
ments of  contemporary  religious  philosophy.  Much  that 
was  irrational  and  mistaken  in  the  older  tradition  has  long 
been  exposed;  on  the  whole,  a  far  saner  view  of  life  and  of 
religion  prevails  than  among  church-people  of  even  a  genera- 
tion ago.  But  if  we  are  candid,  we  must  admit  that  upon  its 
constructive  side  theology  has  less  to  show.  We  can  raise 
far  more  problems  than  we  can  solve;  and  we  know  far  less 
about  the  great  enigmas  than  men  once  thought  they  knew. 
The  situation  is  far  from  satisfactory:  theology  has  been 
overhasty,  unwisely  dogmatic,  and,  for  the  most  part, 
committed  to  an  untenable  method.  But  we  need  not 
despair.  Already  attempts  at  an  empirical  theology  are 
appearing;  the  near  future  may  show  a  great  advance  in 
this,  the  last  field  to  be  occupied  by  science.  We  await  new 
philosophies.  But  in  the  meantime  our  duty  is,  in  the  main, 
clear;  we  are  to  serve  and  to  work  during  the  day.  The  ulti- 
mate outcome  of  our  labors  we  cannot  see;  but  perhaps  it 
will  be  far  greater  than  we  dare  to  dream. 

In  any  case,  the  religious  experience  rapidly  surveyed  in 
Part  II  of  this  volume  remains  unquestionable,  however 
dubious  the  interpretations  and  inferences  that  have  been 
based  upon  it.  There  is  a  way  to  transform  life,  to  give  it 
dignity  and  imperishable  worth;  religon  has  found  that 
way,  and  remains  the  best  thing  in  the  world.  And  as  for 
those  beliefs  that  transcend  experience,  they  may  well  be 
true,  or  adumbrations  of  something  that  is  true,  even  if 


SUMMARY  OF  PART  III  413 

the  arguments  by  which  they  have  usually  been  supported 
are  weak  and  fallacious.  We  shall  be  told  that  men  want 
something  more  definite,  more  sure.  And  with  that  want, 
that  hunger  of  the  heart,  we  can  all  sympathize.  What  would 
we  not  give  to  pierce  the  veil!  But  the  trouble  with  the 
"definite"  dogmas  is  that  they  are  definitely  assumptions, 
definitely  presumptuous,  surely  unproved.  The  Church 
must  be  willing  to  acknowledge  this;  the  world  outside  knows 
it,  and  discredits  the  Church  for  its  blindness,  or  its  unwill- 
ingness to  admit  the  limitations  of  our  present  knowledge. 
The  situation  is  not  so  soothing  to  our  wistful  wonderings 
as  we  should  like,  but  it  is  vastly  stimulating.  The  whole 
movement  of  theology,  comparative  failure  as  it  has  been, 
witnesses  monumentally  to  man's  indestructible  sense  that 
his  ideals  count  in  a  greater  world  than  here  and  now,  that 
human  life  has  a  wider  setting,  that  the  struggle  between 
good  and  evil  has  a  cosmic  significance  and  is  but  paving 
the  way  for  a  consummation  of  which  our  Christian  hope 
has  been,  however  inadequately,  a  symbol.  This  is  the 
larger  significance  of  the  belief  in  God.  That  belief,  in  some 
form  or  other,  man,  whatever  his  future  history  may  be, 
will  never  abandon.  "A  religion  without  a  great  hope  is  like 
an  altar  without  a  living  fire."  And  Christianity,  not  only 
because  of  the  insight  and  profundity  of  its  ideals,  but  be- 
cause of  the  splendid  sweep  of  its  cosmic  hope,  is  probably 
destined  to  be,  in  some  developed  and  rationalized  form, 
the  religion  of  the  future. 

In  conclusion,  the  practical  corollaries  of  the  point  of  view 
from  which  this  volume  has  been  written  may  be  gathered 
into  a  brief  summary:  We  must  be  open-eyed  and  open- 
minded,  keeping  our  intellectual  integrity,  never  closing 
the  window  to  new  light,  always  ready  to  revise  our  beliefs 
when  new  evidence  appears.  We  must  recognize  the  differ- 
ence between  the  assured  conclusions  of  science  and  those 


414  PHILOSOPHICAL 

personal  over-beliefs,  which,  however  passionately  we  may 
espouse  them,  stand  upon  a  different  level  and  cannot  serve 
as  bases  for  a  universal  religion.  We  must  not  delude  our- 
selves into  thinking  that  we  know  more  than  we  do,  or 
trouble  ourselves  over  the  limitations  of  our  knowledge.  We 
must  be  tolerant  and  sympathetic  toward  the  beliefs  of 
others,  never  thrusting  our  own  beliefs  dogmatically  upon 
them,  but  sincerely  seeking  to  learn  from  them  as  well  as  to 
win  them  to  what  seems  to  us  good  and  true.  We  must  learn 
to  see  God  in  human  life,  to  love,  fear,  and  seek  God,  as  the 
guiding  motive  of  our  lives.  We  must  cleave  through  all 
temptation  to  the  way  of  life  that  Christ  revealed,  and  that 
he  lived,  that  we  may  find  therein  the  joy  and  peace  and 
power  to  serve  that  is  our  birthright.  We  must  believe  in 
prayer,  and  utilize  this  means,  as  well  as  the  institution  of 
the  Church,  for  the  deepening  and  purifying  of  our  spiritual 
life.  We  must  believe  in  and  work  for  the  coming  of  the 
Kingdom  of  God  on  earth,  the  time  when  righteousness  shall 
reign  and  men  shall  live  as  brothers  together.  We  must 
believe,  so  far  as  in  us  lies,  in  the  power  of  the  human  soul  to 
live  beyond  the  grave,  in  the  ultimate  victory  of  good  over 
evil,  and  the  greatness  of  our  destiny.  We  must  seek  to 
bring  together  the  scattered  forces  of  the  Church,  finding 
some  common  platform  or  covenant  upon  which  men  of 
good  will  the  world  over  can  unite  for  that  age-long  war 
with  sin  and  suffering  which  it  is  the  great  mission  of  reli- 
gion to  wage.  As  a  suggestion  toward  such  a  common 
covenant,  and  as  an  epitome  of  the  spirit  that  has  animated 
this  volume,  the  writer  would  append  this  brief  profession 
of  his  personal  faith :  — 

I  believe  in  God,  the  Eternal  Power  that  makes  for  righteous- 
ness and  all  good:  known  to  us  in  Nature,  speaking  to  us  as  the 
Holy  Spirit  in  our  hearts,  incarnate  in  the  soul  of  Christ.  I  believe 
in  the  Way  of  Life  taught  by  Christ,  in  the  Bible  as  a  revelation 


SUMMARY  OF  PART   III  415 

of  God,  and  in  the  power  of  prayer  unto  Salvation.  I  pledge 
myself  to  live  by  the  eternal  laws  of  God,  looking  unto  Christ  for 
guidance  and  strength;  to  resist  unto  the  end  all  sensuality,  self- 
ishness and  sin;  to  work  loyally  with  the  Church  of  Christ  for  the 
coming  of  the  Kingdom  of  God  on  earth;  and  to  cherish  the  hope 
of  eternal  life. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abelard,  176. 

Abnormal  experiences  as  a  source  of 

religious  beliefs,  14,  171,  317,  319. 
Absolute,  the,  347,  349,  393. 
Adam,  J.,  25. 
Adams,  G.  P.,  208. 
Adler,  Felix,  225. 
.Eneas,  32. 
.Esehylus,  25. 
Ahrirnan,  46. 
Allen,  Grant,  14,  100. 
Ahura-Mazda,  46. 
Ambrose,  115,  199. 
Amiel,  H.  F.,  208. 
Amos,  57. 

Analogy,  argument  from,  303. 
Angro-Mainyu,  46. 
Animal-worship,  52. 
Animism,  11,  22,  31,  37. 
Anselm,  175. 
Antioch,  council  of,  89. 
A  priori  reasoning,  252,  255,  282. 
Aquinas,  Thomas,  111,  175,  252. 
Aristides,  97. 
Aristotle,  380. 
Ark,  the,  54,  155. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  4,  6,  60,  72,  141, 

144,  146,  149,  159,  185,  193,  218, 

223,  287,  293. 
Aryan  religion,  21,  26,  31,  36,  45,  49. 
Ascension,  251,  287,  388. 
Asceticism,  157. 
Asoka,  44. 

Atheism,  141.  146,  217,  332. 
Athene,  30,  33,  130. 
Atonement,  the  104,  153,  174. 
Augustine.   See  St.  Augustine. 
Aurelius,  Marcus,  131,  201,  206,  209. 
Authority,  249,  255,  275. 
Aveling,  F.,  295,  299,  302,  321. 
Avesta,  46. 

Baals,  52,  130. 
Bacon,  B.  W.,  65,  88. 


Bacon,  Francis,  253. 

Bahaism,  211,  231. 

Balfour,  Arthur,  351,  352,  354,  355, 
358. 

Baptism,  67,  167. 

Beard,  C.,  119. 

Bergson,  H.,  283. 

Bible,  editions  of,  49,  66;  value  of, 
57,  60,  273,  276;  attitude  of  Prot- 
estants toward,  118,  121,  260,  274; 
dogma  of  its  infallibility,  249,  260, 
265;  composition  of,  264;  criticism 
of,  267;  authority  of,  275.  See 
also  Old  Testament,  New  Testa- 
ment. 

Bigg,  C.,  232. 

Bishops,  origin  of,  113,  of  Rome,  114. 

Bloomfield,  M.,  37. 

Bode,  B.  W.,  328. 

Bousset,  W.,  75. 

Boutroux.  E.,  255. 

Bowen,  C.  R.,  84. 

Bowne,  B.  P.,  298,  299. 

Brahma,  37. 

Brahmanism,  36,  130,  207,  314. 

Bruno,  252,  261. 

Buddha,  38,  130,  206. 

Buddhism,  36,  131,  156,  203,  217. 

Burgon,  Dean,  267. 

Burkitt,  F.  C.,  66. 

Burma,  religion  in,  42. 

Butler,  Bishop,  121. 

Calkins,  M.  W.,  190. 

Calvin,  119,  130,  261,  276. 

Calvinism,  119. 

Campbell,  R.  J.,  142. 

Canon,  origin  of,  265. 

Carilas,  93,  201. 

Carlyle,  T.,  137,  221,   237,  280,  289. 

Carpenter,  J.  E.,  39,  66. 

Carter,  J.  B.,  32. 

Carus,  P.,  110. 

Case,  S.  J.,  236. 


420 


INDEX 


Catholic.   See  Roman  Catholic. 
Celibacy,  117,  158. 
Charming,  W.  E.,  120,  121,  122,  163. 
Charles,  R.  H.,  62. 
Chesterton,  G.  K.,  29. 
Chivalry,  199. 

Christ,  his  teaching,  39,  44,  75,  115, 
171,  206,  231,  289,  293,  316;  his 
life,  63;  his  healing,  67,  284,  287, 
288,  289,  314,  325;  meaning  of  the 
name,  68;  his  personality,  72,  143, 
233,  239,  278;  his  resurrection,  72, 
82,  84, 287,  288,  291 ;  his  genealogy, 
75,  270;  deification  of,  106,   142; 
divinity  of,  142,  236;  his  power  to 
save,  167,  174,  186,  236;  belief  in, 
238. 
Christian  Science,  38,  123,  183,  206, 
209,  284,   313,  325,  347,  368,  370. 
Christianity,  contrasted  with  other 
religions,  1,  43,  229;  primitive,  82, 
97,  104,  239;  causes  of  its  triumph, 
96,   131,  259,  325;   modern,    119; 
its  nature,  231,  244;  its  need  of 
growth,  236;  Christless,  238.    See 
also   Christ,    Church,   Protestant- 
ism, Reformation,  etc. 
Church,  the,  its  present  needs,  2,  4, 
233,  258;  its  origin,  82,   113;   its 
development,   98,   123,   236,   250; 
need   of,    241;    its    opposition    to 
free  thought,  258,  397,  413.    See 
also  Christianity,   Papacy,  Sacra- 
ments,   Reformation,    Protestant- 
ism,  Creeds,    Dogma,  Authority, 
Roman   Catholic  Church,   Greek 
Orthodox  Church,  etc. 
Cicero,  307,  396. 
Clemens,  S.  L.,  211. 
Clifford,  W.  T.,  399,  402. 
Coe,  G.  A.,  173. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  398. 
Color-blindness,  359. 
Comte,  Auguste,  217,  334. 
Confessional,  117. 
Conscience,  16,  320. 
Consciousness,  301,  386,  392. 
Conservation  of  energy,  392. 
Const untine,  99,  199. 
Conversion,  167,  168,  244,  281,  284, 

314.  322. 
Comill,  C.  H.,  49. 


Coulanges,  F.  de,  213. 
Counter-Reformation,  116. 
Covenant,  152,  240,  266. 
Creation,  16,  270,  295,  303,  380. 
Creec's,  evolution  of,  98;  Athanasian, 

Nicene,   Apostles',    102;    relation 

of  to  religion,  215,  239. 
Criticism,  need  of,  3,  401;  meaning 

of,  267. 
Crooker,  T.  H.,  191. 
Cross,  preaching  of  the,  92,  231. 
Crothers,  S.  M.,  381. 
Crusades,  199. 
Cumont,  F.,  24. 
Cutten,  G.  B.,  207,  211. 

Dante,  111,  130,  206. 

Darwin,  198,  304,  398. 

Decalogue,  51,  141. 

Delahaye,  H.,  285. 

Deliverance  from  sin,  need  of,  16,  41, 
96,  105,  167. 

Democritus,  304. 

Design,  302,  349. 

Deuteronomy,  55,  265. 

Deva.  46.  V 

Devil,  110,  174,  380. 

Dewey,  J.,  338. 

Dewey  and  Tufts,  185,  301. 

Dickinson,  G.  L.,  216,  257,  329,  339, 
343,  410. 

Dobschutz,  E.  von,  78. 

Dogma,  growth  of,  98,  115,  239,  260; 
dangers  of,  215,  250.  See  also 
Creeds,  Orthodoxv,  etc. 

Dole,  C.  F.,  238. 

Dowie,  John  Alexander,  123. 

Drake,  Durant,  17,  18,  129,  158,  301, 
361. 

Dreams,  significance  for  early  re- 
ligion, 13. 

Driesch,  H.,  283. 

Driver,  Canon,  268. 

Dualism,  46,  175. 

Duty,  42,  140,  160,  224,  321,  335. 

Dyaus,  22. 

Ecclesiasticism.  See  Church,  Creeds, 
Dogma,  Sacraments,  Authority, 
Priests,  etc. 

Eddv,  Mary  B.  G..  210,  368. 

Edghill,  E.  A.,  97,  211. 


INDEX 


421 


Edwards,  Jonathan,  119,  120,  163. 

Eleusis,  23. 

Elijah,  57. 

Elohim,  50. 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  20,  72,  138^  140, 

163,  208,  212,  217,  219,  337. 
Emotion  in  religion,  214,  341. 
Empirical  method  in  theology,  121. 
Ennius,  32. 

Ephesus,  Council  of,  109. 
Epistles,  265,  266,  269. 
Eugenics,  164. 
Euripides,  28,  30. 
Eusebius,  201. 
Evangelism,  171,  173,  233. 
Everett,  C.  C,  110,  121. 
Evil,  problem  of,  210,  384;  the  war 

against,  233,  366,  382. 
Evolution,  304,  306,  375,  387. 
Exile,  the,  55. 
Ezekiel,  52. 
Ezra,  265. 

Fairweather,  W.,  62. 

Faith,  180,  245,  396,  397;  salvation 

by,  91,  105,  180,  245. 
Faith-cures,  325.      See    also    Faith, 

salvation   by;   Christian   Science; 

Christ,  his  healing. 
Fall,  the,  164. 
Farwell,  L.  R.,  30. 
Farquhar,  J.  N.,  45. 
Farrar,  Dean,  5. 
Fechner,  G.  T.,  347. 
First  Cause,  295. 
Fiske,  John,  143. 
Fitch,  A.  P.,  220,  314,  342. 
Fletcher,  Horace,  211. 
Foster,  G.  B.,  255,  261. 
Fourth   Gospel,   64,   107,   144, 

239. 
Free  will,  377. 
Friedlander,  G.,  100. 
Fullerton,  G.  S.,  299. 
Future  Life.   See  Immortality. 

Galileo,  252,  261. 

Galloway,  G.,  225,  314,  318,  329.  339, 

342,  347. 
Gautama.   See  Buddha. 
George,  H.  B.,  268. 
Ghost-theory,  13. 


Glossalalia.    See  Tongues,  speaking 

with. 
Gnosticism,  91. 
God,  historic  conceptions  of,  50,  56, 

79,  106,  119,  120,  125,  175,  270; in 

nature,  135;  nature  of,  135,  145, 

217,  291,  293,  316,  322,  327,  413; 

fear  of,   140;     in  man,   142,   237; 

love  of,  202;  as  Creator,  295,  303; 

pragmatic  arguments  for,  342,  346, 

349;  omnipotence  of,  368,  379,  391. 
Goethe,  227,  322. 
Goodspeed,  G.  S.,  61. 
Gordon,  G.  A.,  293. 
Gospels,  65,  266,  269,  287.    See  also 

Fourth  Gospel. 
Gray,  G.  B.,  66. 

Greek  Orthodox  Church,  115,  154. 
Greek  philosophy,  24,  100,  103,  130, 

223,  258. 
Greek  religion,  20,  284. 
Green,  T.  H.,  183,  232. 

Hail,  H.  Fielding,  12,  43,  214. 

Hall,  J.  J.,  163. 

Hannay,  J.  D.,  159. 

Harmony  of  the  Gospels,  Q6,  287. 

Harnack,  A.,  102,  109. 

Harrison,  J.  E.,  14,  24. 

Hatch,  E.,  241. 

Haupt,  P.,  49. 

Heaven,  109,  130,  166,  285. 

Hebrew  religion,  49,  131,  265,  274. 

See  also  Prophets  of  Israel,  Psalms, 

Messianic  hope,  etc. 
Hell,  109,  130,  166,  176,  271. 
Helmholz,  308. 
Heresy,  259. 
Hermits,  157. 
Herodotus,  286. 
Hesiod,  22. 

Hierocles,  Song  of,  156. 
Hilty,  Carl,  344. 
Hoffding,  H..  318. 
Holley,  H.,  231. 
Holmes,  Edmond,  163. 
Holtzmann,  O.,  66,  113,  114,  325. 
Holy  Spirit.   See  Spirit,  Holy. 
Homer,  22,  27,  383. 
Horace,  34. 
Hosea,  58. 
Hume,  David,  282. 


422 


INDEX 


Huss,  116. 

Huxley,  H.,  257,  283,  399. 

Hypatia,  260. 

Idealism,  objective,  347,  393. 

Immortality,  109,  291,  383. 

Incarnation,  the,  100,  142,  237. 

Inconceivability,  355. 

India,  religion  in,  26,  36. 

Infallibility  of  the  Pope,  115;  of  the 
Bible,  249;  of  the  Church,  250. 

Inge,  W.  R.,  185,  207. 

Innocent  III,  115. 

Inspiration,  264,  272,  273. 

Instincts,  trustworthiness  of,  340,  392. 

Intuition,  330. 

Isaiah,  58,  200,  269. 

Isis,  34. 

Israel.  See  Hebrew  religions,  Proph- 
ets of  Israel,  etc. 

Jackson,  H.  L.,  78. 

Jahveh.   See  Jehovah. 

James,  William,  11,  28,  120,  160, 167, 
168,  172,  182,  190,  207,  219,  224, 
253,  309,  319,  323,  325,  329,  337, 
343,  347,  348,  356,  381,  403. 

Jefferies,  R.,  209,  217. 

Jehovah,  51,  52,  56,  130. 

Jesus.    See  Christ. 

John  the  Baptist,  67. 

John,  Gospel  of.   See  Fourth  Gospel. 

Jones,  M.,  78. 

Jones,  R.  M.,  119. 

Josephus,  64. 

Joshua,  52. 

Josiah,  reform  of,  55. 

Judaism.  Sec  Hebrew  religion, 
Prophets  of  Israel,  Psalms,  Mes- 
sianic hope,  etc. 

Judas,  70. 

Judgment,  the,  76,  88,  93,  109,  110, 
385,  390. 

Julian  the  "Apostate,"  99,  156. 

Jiilieher,  G.  A.,  66. 

Jupiter,  22,  27,  32,  33. 

Justification.  See  Salvation  by  faith. 

Justin  Martyr,  211. 

Justinian,  260. 

Kant,  337,  355. 
Kennedy,  H.  A.  A.,  100. 


Kent,  C.  P.,  49,  61. 

Khayyam,  Omar,  395. 

King,  I.,  11. 

Kingdom  of  God,  50,  67, 76,  109,  232, 

414. 
Kingsley,  Charles,  399. 
Knox,  G.  W.,  237. 
Koran,  126. 
Kuhns,  O.,  208. 

Ladd,  G.  T.,  225. 

Lake,  K.,  84. 

Lang,  Andrew,  15,  16. 

Lares  and  Penates,  32. 

Last  Supper,  103,  269. 

Lazarus,  287,  288. 

Lebreton,  J.,  109. 

Leo  III,  115. 

Leuba,  J.  H.,  16,  182,  185,  211,  323, 

324,  339. 
Lewis,  E.,  237,  238. 
Liberal  Christianity,  122. 
Lindsay,  T.  M.,  119. 
Lobstein,  P.,  66. 
Locke,  John,  253. 
Lodge,  Sir  Oliver,  156. 
Logos,  65,  107. 
Loisy,  A.,  105,  230. 
Longfellow,  H.  W.,  205. 
Lord,  the,  origin  of  its  substitution 

for  Jahveh,  51. 
Love,  79,  93,  97,  197. 
Lucian,  97. 
Lucretius,  9,  10,  34. 
Luke,  Gospel  of,  65. 
Luther,  116,  260,  267. 

McConnell,  Bishop,  173,  322. 
MacFadyen,  J.  E.,  49. 
Macintosh,  D.  C,  237,  348. 
McTaggart,  J.  M.  E.,  220,  334. 
Madonna,  worship  of,  109,  117. 
Magic,  10,  187. 
Magna  Mater,  34. 
Mallock,  W.  H.,  333. 
Mana,  11. 
Manes,  14,  52. 
Manitou,  11. 
Marett,  R.  R.,  11. 
Mark,  Gospel  of,  65. 
Martineau,  J.,  216. 
Mass,  the,  117. 


INDEX 


423 


Mather,  Cotton,  119. 

Mathews.  S.,  109. 

Matthew,  Gospel  of.  65. 

Maximus  of  Tyre,  20. 

Maya,  38. 

Mazzini,  199. 

Mechanism,  136,  282,  298,  300,  303. 

Medical  Materialism,  319. 

Melancthon,  261. 

Menzies,  A.,  214. 

Messiah,  meaning  of  the  word,  61; 

Jesus'  conception  of  the,  68,  78; 

Early  Christian  conception  of,  106, 

287.   See  also  Messianic  hope. 
Messianic  hope,  60,  67,  76,  93,  109, 

385.   See  also  Messiah. 
Metempsychosis.  Sec  Transmigration. 
Mill,  J.  S,  72,  233, 253,  308, 309,  318, 

356,  381,  399,  409. 
Miller,  D.  S.,  344,  406. 
Milton,  175. 

Minds,  belief  in  other,  327,  342,  346. 
Miracles,  280. 
Mithras,  24,  34,  97. 
Modernism,  122. 
Moffatt,  J.,  66. 

Mohammed,  51,  124,  317,  318. 
Mohammedanism.  124,  207. 
Moody,  D.  L.,  275. 
Moore,  A.  W.,  348. 
Moore,  G.  F.,  46. 
Mcnasticism,  117,  204. 
Monotheism,  37,  49,  107,  125,  130. 
Montanism,  101. 
Moral  law,  17,  297. 
Morality,  contrasted  with  religion, 

222,  335. 
Morgan,  J.  V.,  211. 
Moses,  51,  53,  265,  268. 
Mother  of  God,  109,  117. 
Moulton,  R.  S.,  50. 
Miiller,  Max,  138. 

Miinsterberg,  H.,  285,  315,  316,  326. 
Murray,  Gilbert,  12,  20,  21,  26,  202. 
Mycenaean  religion,  21. 
Mystery  in  religion,  214. 
Mysterv  religions,  23,  384. 
Mysticism,  137,  206,  320,  326. 
Mythology,  23. 

Natural  law,  136,  281,  284. 
Natural  selection,  304,  392. 


Nazarenes,  99. 

Neo-Platonism,  103,  108. 

Newman,  J.  H.,  251. 

New  Testament,  composition  of,  64, 

266;  editions  of.  66. 
New  Thought,   183,   211.    See  also 

Christian  Science,  Faith-cures. 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  398. 
Nirvana,  40,  341. 
Numa,  religion  of,  31. 

Observation,  errors  in,  312. 

Odysseus,  29. 

Oesterley,  W.  D.  E.,  61. 

Old  Testament,  editions  of,  49;  in- 
troductions to,  49. 

Olympian  religion,  21,  26. 

Optimism,  333,  367. 

Organic  life,  299. 

Origen,  239. 

Ormuzd,  46. 

Orphic  brotherhood,  23. 

Orthodoxy,  238,  241,  267.  See  also 
Dogma,  Creeds,  etc. 

Osiris,  34,  104. 

Osier,  William,  396. 

Outer  envelope,  66. 

Paine,  L.  L.,  109. 

Paley,  303. 

Palmer,  G.  H.,  225. 

Papacy,  114. 

Parker,  Theodore,  121,  276. 

Parsees,  47. 

Pascal,  R.,  402. 

Paul,  his  life,  64,  85,  157,  171,  319; 
his  vision  of  Christ,  83,  87,  269, 
288,  292,  314,  317,  389;  his  teach- 
ing, 90,  104, 106,  162, 178,  180, 200, 
231,  265,  272,  319,  332,  390. 

Paulsen,  F.,  307,  309,  347,  363. 

Peace,  religious,  203,  244. 

Peake,  A.  S.,  66. 

Pearson,  K.,  253,  255,  362. 

Pentateuch,  268. 

Perrv,  R.  B.,  299,  344,  352,  364. 

Persecutions,  99,  199,  272. 

Persephone,  27. 

Persian  religion,  45. 

Pessimism,  40,  163,  203,  232,  368. 

Peter,  his  "confession,"  68;  his  vision 
of  Christ,  82;  his  leadership,  84; 
as  head  of  Roman  Church,  114. 


424 


INDEX 


Pfleiderer,  O.,  66. 
Pharisees,  69,  74. 
Philo  Judteus,  107. 
Pinkham,  H.  W.,  178. 
Pitkin,  W.  B.,  335. 
Plato,  25,  137,  309,  380,  383. 
Pliny,  64,  106. 
Plotinus,  108. 
Plutarch,  30. 
Polybius,  32. 
^   Polytheism,  11,  37,  46,  50,  106,  109, 
"       *    130,  136. 

Popes.   See  Papacy. 

Poverty,  cult  of,  204. 

Powell,^  L.  P.,  211. 

Pragmatism,  332. 

Pratt,  J.  B.,  15. 

Prayer,  187,  313,  343. 

Predestination,  164,  272. 

Presbyters,  origin  of,  113. 

Priests,  113. 

Progress,  375. 

Prophets  of  Israel,  55,  155,  162,  200, 

264,  313. 
Protestantism,    its    origin,    116;    its 

goal,  122,  130,  262. 
Psalms,  59,  268,  271. 
Psychical  research,  317,  393. 
Purgatory,  111,  117,  388. 
Puritanism,  119,  221. 
Purity,  80,  92,  97,  155,  197. 

Rauschenbusch,  W.,  60,  231. 

Reason,  as  the  basis  of  belief,  121, 
275,  352. 

Redemption.  See  Salvation,  Conver- 
sion. 

Reformation,  115,  260. 

Regeneration.  See  Salvation,  Con- 
version. 

Reinach,  S.,  214,  230. 

Reincarnation.    See  Transmigration. 

Religion,  evolution  of,  9,  128;  nature 
of,  160,  202,  213,  239,  243;  vs. 
theology,  215;  vs.  morality,  222, 
335;  vs.  science,  258,  351.  See  also 
Christianity,  etc. 

Religious  experience,  interpretation 
of,  285,  312. 

Religious  sense,  supposed,  329. 

Remorse,  159. 

Renan,  E.,  72. 


Renunciation,  41,  161.  . 
Repentance,  231,  241,  293. 
Resurrection,  the,  72,  82,  84,  287, 

288,  291,  389. 
Revelation,  249,  272;  book  of,  269. 
Reville,  A.,  oG,  84,  108. 
Rhys-Davids,  T.  W.,  41,  45. 
Rice,  W.  N.,  284. 
Riehm,  E.  C.  A.,  61. 
Righteousness,  57,  161. 
Riley,  Woodbridge,  211. 
Rogers,  A.  K.,  311. 
Roman  Catholic  Church,  113. 
Roman  religion,  31,  114,  200. 
Rousseau,  227. 
Rowland,  E.  H.,  351,  355. 
Royce,  J.,  163,  230,  347. 
Ruskin,  John,  377. 

Sabatier,  A.,  106,  176. 

Sacraments,  67,  100,  103,  117,  167, 

233,  235,  241. 
Sacrifice,    151;   human,   152;   trans- 
formation of  the  conception  of,  153. 
St.  Augustine,   120,   121,   163,   171, 

175,  199,  250. 
St.  Francis,  38,  66,  198,  240. 
St.  Jerome,  113,  175,  267. 
St.  Simeon  Stylites,  157. 
St.  Theresa,  318. 
Saints,  worship  of,  109. 
Salvation,  18,  96,  104,  117,  167,  168, 

229;   by   faith,  91,  105,  172,  180, 

245,  323;  through  Christ,  167,  174, 

186,  236. 
Santayana,  G.,  21,  23,  97,  98,  370. 
Satan.   See  Devil. 
Scapegoat,  152. 
Schaub,  E.  L.,  154. 
Schiller,  F.  C.  S.,  332,  338,  339,  342, 

343,  347,  348,  3.55. 
Schools,  closing  of  the,  260. 
Schweitzer,  A.,  78. 
Science  vs.  religion,  258,  351. 
Scientific  spirit,  254,  282,  345,  361, 

397. 
Scott,  E.  F.,  65,  66,  67,  78,  103,  108, 

113,  114. 
Seeley,  Sir  J.  R.,  138,  139,  146,  256, 

257. 
Servetus,  261. 
Service,  spirit  of.   See  Love. 


INDEX 


425 


Seth,  A.,  347. 

Shakespeare,  199. 

Shamans,  15. 

Shotwell,  J.  T.,  100,  213,  214. 

Showerman,  Grant,  100. 

Sin,  154;  forgiveness  of,  73,  79,  314; 

original,  162,  169,  175. 
Smith,  H.  P.,  49. 
Smith,  W.  R.,  19. 
Socinus,  175. 
Sophrosyne,  29,  30. 
Spear,  R.  E.,  235. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  14,  214,  301,  355, 

358. 
Spinoza,  267. 
Spirit,  Holy,  106,  108,  139,  238,  314, 

316. 
Spiritualism,  285,  317,  393. 
Spirituality,  244. 
Soul,  387. 
Stanton,  V.  H.,  66. 
Starbuck,  E.  D.,  168,  169. 
Stephen,  87. 
Stoics,  25,  96,  201,  209. 
Stokes,  A.  P.,  145. 
Stratton,  G.  M.,  339. 
Streeter,  B.  S.,  353,  400. 
Strong,  C.  A.,  299. 
Sturt,  H.,  231. 
Suetonius.  64. 
Sunderland,  J.  T.,  289. 
Supernatural.   See  Miracles. 
Superstition,  nature  of,  217. 
Synoptic  Gospels,  65. 

Taboo,  155. 

Tacitus,  64,  83, 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  163. 

Teleology.   See  Design. 

Telepathy,  394. 

Tennant,  F.  R.,  163. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  29. 

Teraphim,  52. 

Theodicy,  41,  306,  366. 

Theology,  its  relation  to  religion,  215; 

its  method,    249,   312,   332,   358; 

Scholastic,    252;    origin   of,    259; 

present  status,  412. 
Thompson,  J.  M.,  66. 
Tolstoy,  L.,  193. 
Tongues,  speaking  with,  83,  317,  319. 


Toy,  C.  H.,  62. 

Transcendentalism,  38,  347,  393. 
Transmigration,  36,  37,  39. 
Transubstantiation,  103. 
Treves,  285,  325. 
Trine,  R.  W.,  211. 
Trinity,  the,  106,  109,  136,  145. 
Tylor,  E.  B.,  13. 
Tyndall,  189. 

Unworldliness,  80,  97,  117,  158,  204, 

224,  232. 
Uzzah,  155. 

Vedas,  26,  36,  46,  156. 

Vesta,  32. 

Virgil,  34. 

Virgin    birth,    66,    142,    270,    286, 


Visions,  317.   See  also  under  Paul. 
Vitalism,  283,  301. 

Warner,  C.  D.,  278. 
Warschauer,  J.,  65. 
Weber,  A.,  260. 
Wedgwood,  J.,  37. 
Wendell,  Barrett,  121. 
Wenley,  R.  M.,  255. 
Wernle,  P.,  66. 
Wesley,  John,  181, 
Wevmouth,  R.  F.,  66. 
White,  Andrew  D.,  261. 
Whitman,  Walt,  161. 
Wiggers,  G.  F.,  163. 
Will  to  believe,  406. 
Witch  of  Endor,  15. 
Worcester.  Elwood,  185. 
Word  of  God  (=  Logos),  107. 
Wordsworth,  W.,  138,  208. 
Workman,  H.  B.,  159. 
Wyclif,  116. 

Xenophanes,  24. 

Y.M.C.A.,  123. 
Yoga,  207. 

Zend-Avesta,  46,  156. 
Zeus,  22,  25,  33. 
Zoroaster,  46. 
Zoroastrianism,  42,  45,  131. 


University  of  CaUfornja 


mi 


MA^t 


Po 


OJ  j 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 
AT 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L I B  R  A  R  Y  FA  CI  ^ l  T  Y 

AA    000  606  711    o 


HARLEM   7-9397 

icalBookShopl 

GOOD  BOOKS 
BOUGHT  &SOL 
1  WEST125THS 


